


Witch Blood

by Allganne, SeoMad (Allganne)



Series: The Witch Heart [4]
Category: NCT (Band), Way V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Established Relationship, Fantasy Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Non Binary Ten, Pining, Power Imbalance, Soul Bond, Unrequited Crush, Witch Politics, Witches, past captivity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 50,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27349720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allganne/pseuds/Allganne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allganne/pseuds/SeoMad
Summary: Binding has been Jaemin and Jeno’s destiny from almost the moment they arrived in White Stone as children.But as most Witches know, destiny is not always kind.With war a looming threat, the future they were promised is destroyed by a summons from the Black City, where not all is as it seems.And not even those they call family can be trusted.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Series: The Witch Heart [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1397089
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56





	1. CHAPTER ONE

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a long, long time coming. And it has grown much larger than I'd ever thought - and I knew this one was going to be big.  
> Thankyou to every single person who has read my Witch Heart stories. I'm so thankful, and I really hope you enjoy where the next paths will lead. 
> 
> We have new faces to meet and fall in love with, new spells to find and the inevitability of the Wall.  
> I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Notes and tags will be updated with each part, so please check if something changes. 
> 
> This fic owes everything to my bffl Sam. I would not have got this far without you. My true MVP <3 
> 
> And KJ and Mon, my darlings. Thankyou for always putting up with me hahahaha

The moon isn’t full, or even hanging directly overhead, but there is enough dappled, blue light flickering over the gardens of White Stone for Jaemin to see as he leapfrogs between plants and shadows alike.

There is a tempered chill to the autumn wind as it cuts through the ravine that is cold enough it’s kept most people indoors, which made sneaking across town easier but getting back inside the castle unseen is always going to be an exercise in futility. The Heart is never blind. 

Renjun, at the very least, always keeps his window open. 

“Are we not even pretending to be cautious tonight?” Jeno asks, and Jaemin grins as he leapfrogs the last large, fractious shrub and turns to beam back at his Witch Guard. 

Just as he’d expected, Jeno is looking fond, with his eyes in gentle half-moon crescents and his lips curling into a soft smile. But his dark hair is a little windswept and he looks painfully dashing with his soft black training leathers mottled a soft blue in the moonlight. 

“Nope,” Jaemin replies, drawling over the vowel like he’s lost his way. But he almost preens at the delighted little snort of amusement Jeno lets out. Besides, there aren’t really going to be that many consequences if they do get caught. Jaemin is of age, and Jeno is _his_ Guard, so it’s not like he’s risking himself needlessly. 

It’s more what they might get caught _with_ than the fact they were sneaking back into the castle in the dead of night. 

“Do you think Injunnie is still awake?” he asks, peering up at the glossy sheen of the enormous window above them, crested all the way down the wall with a thick weave of rope-like branches.

“If he isn’t I’m sure he will be once you come crashing in, Jaem,” Jeno says, like he isn’t sure Renjun is up and waiting for them.

Injunnie is always up and waiting for them.

“Gimme a leg,” Jaemin demands, wedging the little silver bag he’s spent half the night bartering for between his teeth and waiting patiently for Jeno to trample over and offer his folded hands. 

It’s unnecessary. It’s _always_ unnecessary. 

But Jaemin will never not enjoy the feeling of Jeno holding him up as if he weighs nothing. It’s hot as hell and Jaemin is feeling twitchy after spending so much time with the Scrow trying to buy things he shouldn’t. 

Renjun, perfect trusting Renjun, has left the window cracked so that as Jaemin hoists himself up he can pry it open and heave himself up and into the Witch’s rooms. 

“You’re _late_ ,” Renjun huffs almost immediately, spread out on several cushions in front of his fire. He has a handful of little lights bouncing around his head and just as many sheets of paper scattered around his feet. His fingers are ink stained and there is a delightful smudge over one cheekbone that Jaemin immediately adores. 

Clambering across the room on all fours, he slumps over Renjun’s legs into as comfortable position as he can get in a single fell swoop. Peering back awkwardly to watch as Jeno pulls himself up and into the room with far more poise than Jaemin has ever tried to. 

“Thanks, Injun,” Jeno says fondly as he goes about closing the window properly. Renjun huffs again. 

“Did you at least get it?” he asks, as if he hasn’t seen the pouch clutched in Jaemin’s fastidious grip. But then again, Injunnie likes to make them work for him and, well, Jaemin would be a liar if he even thought about disliking it. 

Being loved by Renjun always feels like a victory. 

“Tadah!” he says, brightly, waving the little pouch in the Witch’s face, determined to catch the little flare of annoyance Renjunnie gets when he’s trying not to smack someone. 

A little drunk, a little obnoxious, Jaemin revels in it. 

And then Jeno plucks the bag out of Jaemin’s fingers and settles down just beside him, his legs pressed along Jaemin’s torso and there is a warm and gentle hand on his back for a moment, like a warning. 

Jaemin huffs and slumps back down to watch as Jeno undoes the bag and slips out the little glimmering pot of what looks like molten silver. 

It’s not as heavy as it looks and if Jaemin didn’t know that to begin with he might have thought they were being cheated. 

But the jinsil has passed every test Jaemin had been able to come up with back at the pub. It’s either the real deal or a very decent fake and the only way to find out would be to give it to Donghyuck and see. 

“What did it cost?” Renjun asks and Jaemin laughs at the way Jeno goes a bit red. 

“One Open Promise was enough,” Jeno says and that just makes Jaemin laugh a bit more. 

“That and a kiss from Jeno. Dizzy the barmaid thinks he’s _cute,_ ” he grins and at that Jeno folds himself over, tucking his bright red face between Jaemin’s shoulder blades. 

Renjun lets out an amused cackle as well and pushes most of his collective mess aside, saving one of the smaller pieces of paper and with steady hands uncorking the tiny crystal bottle. 

Jaemin still isn’t sure if an Open Promise from someone like Renjun is worth it for the impossible silver ink as Injunnie deposits a single drop in the centre of the page. Jaemin takes pride that he’s only ever had to offer one Promise into the pile when Scrow makes him play for keeps. 

But the wave of relief Jaemin feels rush through the other Witch as Renjun smears the tiny droplet of ink across the full length of the paper makes him feel a little better.

Jeno is still folded over Jaemin, heavy and warm, but is peering over at Renjun just as painstakingly, as Renjun picks up the page and lets it hang in midair while he snatches a flame from the open fire and holds it up to the paper, just below the smear of silver ink. 

There is a small flash and the paper catches alight, sparking far more dramatically than Jaemin’s test at the cards table. 

But it feels a little more of a relief to watch as Renjun’s paper scrap burns and the smear of ink remains, looking just as wet as it had been a moment ago, just as unsettled as wet ink should be,hanging in midair like there is still paper to hold it down, like it’s gone solid or made of glass. 

Jaemin lets out a breath, feeling full, like his heart has swelled three times its normal size. And he doesn’t know whose heart has filled him up, whether it’s Renjun or Jeno or even the castle herself -- just that right this moment he feels happy and content and _proud._

This will help, he knows it. 

“So did we buy the right thing?” Jaemin asks, revelling in the flare of relief he can feel burning up through Renjun. And the pride at getting it right is making him giddy. 

Jeno – calming, steadying Jeno – draws his hand through Jaemin’s hair and tucks himself a little firmer in place. He’s a heavy weight, pressing almost the entirety of his upper body over Jaemin and normally Jaemin would be far more testing of this sort of thing. 

Part of him wants to press as far as he can until he wins, but there is far more at play here than his own libido. 

“It looks real to me,” Renjun says, sounding resolute and Jaemin beams at the praise. 

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Jaemin asks, attention slipping away towards their dear Donghyuck and the way he’s been a little gloomy, a little quiet in the weeks since the soldiers left again for the wall.

Since _his_ soldier left for the Wall. 

None of them have been particularly keen to let their Witch of the Sun to his own devices for too long. The more Hyuckie gets stuck in his head, the faster he can spiral and the bigger the mess he tends to make of it. 

Keeping him grounded and distracted and _loved_ takes a little effort but it’s more than worth the time – and Open Promises – to get it. 

Finding something like Jinsil is a task in and of itself. Even for Witches of White Stone, getting it is difficult and never cheap. The magical properties alone make it restricted, and like Taeil hyung’s moon flowers it tends to go straight to the coffers of the Witch Court. 

Getting it through _them_ is like a trial by fire, and, well – Hyuck’s Deck of Many Things is large enough as it is. There isn’t enough _need_ to expand his cards to quantify the Court giving him access to the imbued inks he’s used in the past to make them as powerful as they are. 

So. 

Renjun and Jaemin decided to get it for him. 

And so Jaemin has ended up three soju bottles deep in a card game against the Scrow and come out winning. 

And definitely drunk. 

But Jeno has always been a warm weight at his back and despite his easily irritated front, Jaemin knows Renjun had spent the entire time waiting for Jaemin’s talisman to burn. 

Waiting, just in case something went wrong. 

It’s not unfounded – Witches like the Scrow are wisps on the wind for a reason. They rarely stay in one place and demand due cost for their services. 

Renjun knows of them from demonised tales whispered amongst the noble families of his birth. He has a wariness of the Wandering that Jaemin and Donghyuck tend to lack. 

But it’s always rooted in Renjun’s fastidious love. His fierce protection of those he cares for, and Jaemin loves him for it. 

“You know he’s been researching new cards,” Renjun says, resolutely and Jaemin just hums, folding himself back down so that he’s completely lax over Renjun’s legs. 

They have to be going numb by now. He has both Jaemin and Jeno pressing an awful lot of weight down onto him and yet he hasn’t complained. 

At least about that. 

“And now he should be able to make them!” Jaemin says, watching the way the ink is still sort of hanging in midair, glimmering in the light of the fire. It’s mesmerising, and Jaemin lets his attention go sort of quiet and brainless, not even bothering to listen to either of them responding to his declaration. 

Because really, that was the whole point of tonight. Making sure that their dear Hyuckie has the resources he needs to make the cards he’s been researching, and carefully sketching out. 

Though Renjunnie was the one who really helped design most of Ducky’s cards. Is that what he had been doing before with his inks and paper? 

Jaemin lets out a sigh and slowly pulls himself back into focus again, letting the words fluttering above his head turn back into something that makes sense. 

And as he does he realises Jeno is gently scratching his scalp and Renjun is going about sweeping their little test smear back into the bottle of ink. 

It’s too expensive to waste, after all.

“You should get him to bed; it’s late. And Leeteuk doesn’t like any of us to miss Dawn,” Renjun says, gaze lingering on Jeno. His voice is soft and gentle. Pitched low and slightly scratchy and Jaemin wishes he could listen. Wishes he could stay and listen to Injunnie sing while they doze in front of the fire, him and Jaemin and Jeno. 

But it’s late, and Jaemin is dizzy and drunk and mercy be, hopes he hasn’t been too obnoxious. 

And Injunnie is right. 

Dawn is coming. 

And with it, the Heart. 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

There are things Johnny knows well. 

He knows the weight of his sword. Knows the bite of deep winter and the pleasant burn of a campfire. 

He knows the gentle pain of magic and the way it makes his skin shiver. And he knows the first light of dawn. 

Long ago he had risen with it every morning, following Taeyong as the witches sat through their first spells. And then again, on the Wall, where sleep was hard and practice was early and it felt like there was never a time between. 

Johnny has always been familiar with the sharp chill of pre-dawn air. There is no greater magic than the power of first light, and Johnny has known that all his life. 

That is not something that has ever changed, Wall or Witch Heart alike. 

But there is something infinitely special about the collective breath in before life starts to spread through the halls of the Witch Heart. 

Since the moment he first fell into Taeyong’s bed, his heart has opened again to the subtle guiding of the Heart itself. 

He has woken, just before dawn every morning, and his heart has been full.

And so have his arms. 

Taeyong has been a heavy sleeper since their binding. His limbs slack and heavy, breathing deep and slow. His lashes barely even flutter as he dreams, and as Johnny presses a gentle kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder, Taeyong sighs. 

But he never wakes, not right away. 

Each day since that fateful afternoon Johnny has been blessed with a few precious moments to assess, to hold Taeyong close and embrace the feeling of being _home._

It is indescribable, really. A surrender, Jaehyun had murmured, with more bite than he had clearly intended. 

But it is the only appropriate way Johnny has been able to describe the feeling. 

He has surrendered to the Heart again.

He has surrendered to Taeyong. 

And he cannot regret it. 

Johnny isn’t sure if he’s ever going to be able to get over the feeling of just being close to him. 

It has been little over three weeks since he and Taeyong finished Binding and no matter how much time he sets aside to think through the insurmountable emotions that seem fit to drown him, nothing ever seems to compare to the way he feels when he closes his eyes and simply listens to the gentle _thud, thud, thud_ of Taeyong’s heartbeat seeming to pulse _through him._

Five years may have changed a great deal but it hasn’t changed the fact that Taeyong adores touch, and even in sleep he is clingy, curled into Johnny’s chest with his head tucked neatly under Johnny’s chin. Johnny can feel the gentle tickle as the Witch breathes in and out, and he tucks his head down to press a kiss to the top of Taeyong’s head.

His hair is blonde now, has been for nearly four days, and while it’s not quite the soft pink of Johnny’s memory, it’s as close as it has been since Johnny’s return to White Stone and it suits him. He looks as soft as he feels, as gentle as his touch and as small as he physically is, curled into Johnny like he is afraid Johnny might still simply disappear. 

It’s not as unfounded a thought as Johnny wishes it might be. 

Taeyong has all the precedence in the world. 

And as that first lick of worry burns through him, Taeyong shifts, eyes scrunching as he sighs, pulling himself up and out of sleep. 

“Hi,” he slurs, pressing a blind kiss against the bare skin of Johnny’s collarbones. And so with idle hands Johnny runs his fingers through the sleep-mussed fringe and teases it back.

“Morning,” he smiles and mercy be, he cannot remember what it has ever been like to love so much, so simply, no other desire lingering in his belly. 

“You’re always up before me,” Taeyong murmurs, peering up at him with his large eyes dark with sleep, his movements still sluggish as he rolls onto his back and Johnny immediately misses the warmth. 

“You sleep like a log,” he teases. “It’s a wonder you’ve ever seen a dawn in years.”

“Doyoungie always knocks,” Taeyong pouts and Johnny laughs. Because yes. He does.

And that had been awkward the first time Doyoung had announced himself,declaring that they both needed to be dressed and downstairs before the sunlight hit the soulstone or Leeteuk would have their bollocks. 

That if they wanted to fuck, they needed to do so before first rites or wait until everything was done and then go back to bed. 

Johnny still isn’t sure if Doyoung’s brusque embarrassments so far have been because he still hasn’t forgiven Johnny for Taeyong’s heartbreak or because he’s punishing them both for somehow managing to solve it. 

In all actuality, he isn’t sure if Doyoung knows either. 

“I guess we’re evolving,” Johnny muses, turning onto his side to peer at Taeyong in the half-dark of the looming dawn. The sky is growing brighter, but rites don’t start until the sunlight touches the spires of the castle and there is still a little time left. 

Taeyong reaches over then with a gentle finger, and Johnny watches with baited breath as his Witch traces the newly formed runes decorating what had once been empty skin over Johnny’s heart. 

The spell that has sunk into them both like sediment in his bones inked deep into his skin for all to see. 

It is little more than for show. Unlike Johnny’s other Witch Blessings there is no magic stored within them. There is no need, not when they link him to Taeyong. Not when he becomes another part of him. 

And Taeyong has been unable to fathom them since their creation. It doesn’t matter that he had inked them with his own hand. That he had sat across Johnny’s lap and Johnny had held him still, as he had painted each stroke with astonishing care.

And Johnny gets it. He does. It had been nearly three weeks since he and Taeyong had completed the spell and it still feels like a fever dream. Like he’s going to wake in the dimly lit bowels of the infirmary and find this has all been a dream.

“Did you sleep okay?” Johnny asks, taking Taeyong’s fingers in his own as the Witch finishes tracing the last rune, pressing a kiss to the tips of them.

“Mmm, with you here, always,” Taeyong says, breaking into a delighted laugh. 

“You’ll be the end of me,” Johnny replies, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. Taeyong hums and curls himself deeper into the blankets as Johnny pushes himself up and slips out of bed. As much as he would rather have his way with his Witch, one of them needs to ensure they reach the Heart on time, and it looks like this morning it’s him. 

Taeyong simply stays where he is, fluffy bed-hair poking out of the top of the blanket, dark eyes round and greedy as he watches Johnny walk across the room, naked. 

The air is warm, the fire already burning merrily as Johnny picks at the discarded trousers that he had left behind the night before. 

It’s only the first part of his new uniform. Or old uniform, rather. 

After five years of wearing grey and Black, returning to an armour made entirely white was something alien. But it was like a revelation and a betrayal all at once. 

In the army Johnny had _earned_ his black. He had earned the embroidered mark of this place on his shoulder, the glittering cherry tree that marked him as an Officer of rank. An officer who belonged to White Stone, especially in the long years where Johnny had believed he was never going to see this place again. 

And yet, return he had. Not only to this _place_ but to the people he had left behind. And as much effort as it took, as hard as it had been to bare so much of the secrets they had kept they had won out in the end. 

Those precious runes are proof of that. 

And so is the daring white of Johnny’s new garb. The process has been slow, so far, replacing pieces of his wardrobe with the brilliant white of his new station. It has been more of a compromise than Johnny had expected, with the cut of his old uniform, the same tailored lines and easy movement of a soldier on the Wall. A joining of the two worlds he walked. 

He does not wear the uniform of a Witch Guard, but he wears her colours, and better yet - with every step he takes is a gentle flash of black silk of his inner lining. A reminder of who he is.

He is Seo Youngho, Commander of the Wall. A legionnaire. 

And he was also Taeyong’s. 

And he glances back at the bed, where Taeyong has finally shifted out of his cocoon, ghosted with soft grey light as the sky brokered towards the cresting of the dawn. He is sitting upright, watching Johnny with warm silver eyes, his expression open. 

There are things Johnny knows well. 

He knows love. And he knows Taeyong. 

“Time to face the dawn,” he says, feeling that same echo across his bond. That warmth that is _Taeyong._

And he knows he is right where he needs to be. 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

It is far easier to lie about being sick, Jaemin has found, when you have someone to back you up. 

Someone that isn’t _Jeno_ , anyway. 

No one ever seems to believe him when Jaemin sends his Acorn off as the bearer of bad news. But it doesn’t stop him from trying. 

This time, however, it seems like Renjun has given him a Blessing of his own and must have backed him up, because Jaemin gets a grace period long enough to sleep away a decent chunk of the hangover lingering behind his eyelids. 

He’s only twenty and it’s a rare occurrence to feel like his insides are turning to liquid and making a determined bid to come back out his mouth. But everybody has their limits and Jaemin knows he overdid it last night. 

Luckily he has conspirators who love him,but not quite enough to save him from Doyoung’s wrath. 

And Donghyuck’s amusement. 

“So, Doyoung thinks you’re hungover,” Donghyuck declares loudly as he lets himself resolutely into Jaemin’s rooms. 

Without knocking.

Jaemin just groans, still curled up under his blankets where Jeno had left him, startled out of his doze by his door bouncing off the wall with a resounding crash. 

“I _am!”_ Jaemin groans and pulls his blankets up over his head in a bid to block out the world. It’s a useless endeavour, and Donghyuck is quick to clamber up onto the bed and plant himself in Jeno’s empty space. Eager fingers pulling at the quilt to bare Jaemin to the world again. 

It’s a losing battle, and he pouts as Donghyuck wins, squinting at the sunshine. 

“So what on earth were you doing last night that you didn’t invite me for?” Hyuck demands, and while his voice is teasing it doesn’t take Jaemin’s powers to know how perilous Hyuck’s good mood is right now. It relies almost entirely on Jaemin’s answer whether or not he was being purposefully left out.

Which he _was._ But only because they’ve been wanting to surprise him. And inviting him down to match wits with the Scrow wouldn’t be much of a surprise. 

Thankfully he’s saved from the dilemma of having to admit their scheming by Renjun, who lets himself in not a moment too soon. 

“Can't I just be ill in peace?” Jaemin grumbles. 

“You’re not ill. You’re _lazy_ ,” Renjun says and Jaemin scoffs. 

“I’m _not._ One day you’ll actually have to worry about me, Injunnie, and what will you all do then?” 

“Enjoy the peace and quiet,” Renjun replies and Donghyuck laughs. 

“Come on, Jaeminnie. Chenle wants to try and beat me at archery. I need you to shoot with me so he feels twice as bad about losing,” Hyuck pouts and who would Jaemin be to ignore that? Archery isn’t his favourite—he still enjoys hitting things far more. But he’s never going to turn it down. Maybe if he’s lucky Jeno will be finished doing drills and come join them. 

“Fine,” he sighs and Hyuck makes a high pitched little noise of victory and that alone makes it worth it. 

“Come on, Jaeminnie,” Hyuck bounces, swatting him on the butt as he clambers back across the bed. “Up you get, time to play.” 

And so Jaemin obeys. 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰ 

  
  


Donghyuck likes to joke that Doyoung is the easiest Witch to find because he burns his footprints beneath him wherever he goes. 

And he’s not wrong. Doyoung had been a baleful influence on the castle staff when he was young and still learning to control the power that lurked under his skin.

But Yuta has never needed a trail of ashes to know where Doyoung is. There is simply no one quite so reliable as their Witch of Hearth and Home. And Yuta at least likes to pretend he’s not unseemingly biased. 

True to form when Yuta slips back into the Heart Doyoung is exactly where Yuta is expecting him, tucked away in one of the upstairs windows, peering out over the excited shouting looming up from the training grounds. 

And as Yuta slips his arms around Doyoung’s waist and peers out over his shoulder he spots the familiar herd of young Witchlings making pot shots at the archery targets. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Yuta muses, peering down towards the pink haired shadow of Jaemin, struggling to keep two of the large targets upright while Chenle bosses everyone about. One with magic, one without. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Doyoung mutters, turning away from the window as if he can escape Yuta’s teasing if he pretends he’s busy enough. Yuta laughs. 

“Are you feeling better now you know Jaemin’s not wasting away upstairs?” 

Doyoung huffs in annoyance and Yuta chuckles. 

“You don’t need to know everything about everyone, Bun,” Yuta replies, following after the Witch as Doyoung makes a heading back towards the open door of the private study room he’s no doubt been hidden away in since they all broke after Dawn Rites. 

“You weren’t complaining when it was Johnny,” Doyoung bites as Yuta follows, and he hums, because he can’t argue with that. 

  
“Johnny was an exception, darling. We were right to keep him on his toes. Jaemin sleeping in for once isn’t a sign he’s going to run off and join the war effort,” he scoffs, and Doyoung just continues to almost-ignore him. Settling down into one of his favourite reading chairs. 

There’s a large fire blazing away and if Yuta knows anything it’s more for the comforting sound than any need to heat the room; after all Doyoung runs hotter than anyone Yuta has ever met.

But the crackle of woodsmoke is familiar and soothing and Yuta finds himself breathing it in and shuffling off the twitchy sort of anxiousness he’s been feeling all morning. Watching as Doyoung starts shuffling through the first of many little stacks of paper across his desk as he tries to pick back up where he had no doubt left off. 

Yet despite the niggling bait of not only one but two of Doyoung’s greatest fears - the maelstrom of chaos that was Johnny Seo, and his ever-present fear that he would wake up to find White Stone’s hoard of Witchling’s gone - when he doesn’t still get a reply he peers a little closer and can’t help but laugh, because Doyoung is trying very hard indeed not to simply look like a cat who got the cream. 

“You’re not worried because you already figured out why Jaemin was missing,” Yuta accuses and Doyoung only makes a quiet sound of qasi-acknowledgement, still peering down at whatever list of incoming reports is in front of him. But there is a small satisfied curl to his lips that makes Yuta laugh again and he slips around behind him and wraps his arms over Doyoung’s shoulders so he can tilt his head up. 

“Doie, baby, you’re insufferable,” he says in delight and presses a kiss against the bridge of his nose. 

“I can't believe he used _Renjun_ to say he was ill! _”_ Doyoung replies, indignant, and Yuta just hums. That doesn’t bode well for their dear Injunnie either, because if Jaemin’s mischief had spread through to the most reliable of the younger Witchlings then they may as well be done for. 

“So what was it?” he asks, playing with the delicate chain hanging around Doyoung’s neck. 

“I don’t know _where_ yet, but Donghyun caught them climbing over the fell wall from the lower city last night.”

“Ah, an _adventure,”_ Yuta replies and Doyoung huffs. 

“Are you going to give him up to Leeteuk?” 

“No,” Doyoung replies, primly, and Yuta laughs. 

“Good boy,” he says, pressing another kiss to his forehead again. 

Doyoung pretends to ignore it, but Yuta knows him well enough by now to see through the flush along his collarbones and he smiles in victory. He’ll let it go easy enough. Especially when Doie has so much to do. His desk seems like one of Taeyong’s little whirlwinds has passed over it given the mess of papers across its entirety. 

“What’s all this?” he asks, leaning over and plucking at one of the reports. 

“Updates from the Wall. I’m getting status reports from the major marker points,” Doyoung replies and Yuta’s joy slips through his fingers as he traces the lines down one from the eastern crags. It’s hardy terrain up there but rare to see any fighting beyond the occasional squabble with plucky mercenaries trying to find an easy crosspoint for contraband. 

“There’s foundational wear in the crags?” Yuta says, looking towards Doyoung in surprise. 

“I don't know how long it’s been since anyone has reinforced the spells up there. And I can't tell who’s jurisdiction it’s meant to be. It could even be us for all these annals tell me,” Doyoung groans and shoves himself back a little from the desk as far as his chair will allow as if he’s backing up far enough he can set the entire desk on fire. 

“We can request a copy from the Librarians?” Yuta says, thinking aloud. “Whoever was meant to be keeping them here might have fallen behind but God knows Yunho’s library is probably the most well kept place in his mercy-forsaken world.” 

Doyoung just makes a non-committal sound in his throat and tosses down the report he had been fiddling with. 

“It would be helpful. We need to be better prepared.”

And isn’t that the thing. Yuta knows it. Knows it better than most, caught in glimpses that feel like sand through his fingers that he not only sees but _feels_. Impossibly small promises of something coming in the dark. 

Even just this morning. A tentative thread cast through the Soul Stone, grasping towards a future only the stars could See.

It’s exhausting, and time consuming and in the weeks since Boa had called Commander Qian back to the Wall, it had seemed like a precipice that simply didn’t end. 

“We’re doing what we can,” he says, sliding carefully into Doyoung’s lap, and Doyoung’s hands are quick to brace around his waist 

“Everything else will simply have to wait,” he says, pressing a kiss against Doyoung’s lips with each word. And just like that he feels the slow unfurling of tension. The gentle exhale. 

The bite of the lie against his teeth. 

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

As Jaemin’s Witch Guard, Jeno has been many things. Filled many roles. 

But the group’s particular favourite has always been using him as an excuse. As a permanent, same-aged escort Jeno is long used to the mischief that follows his Witches almost everywhere. 

It’s how he found himself following Jaemin through the garden beds at 3am last night. 

And it’s how he finds himself making sure they all keep aiming for the archery targets and not each other. 

“You’re not holding your stance properly,” Hyuck says, voice lilted in a mocking little sing-song like he wants to get shot. 

What’s worse is Jeno knows that he’s right. 

Jaemin _isn’t_ standing with quite the right form, his shoulders aren’t properly straight and he’s just as likely to hit the ground than the target. He’s definitely hungover, and it’s making him sloppy. 

Worse still is that Hyuck makes it look perfectly easy when he answers Jaemin’s answering flip of the bird with a kiss and a near-on bullseye, much to Chenle’s delighted laughter. 

“Shut up,” Jaemin swears without even looking over at Hyuck’s smug grin. Instead he takes a deep breath and adjusts his stance. It’s better, Jeno notes happily, when he lifts the bow his shoulders are straighter and his draw is solid. 

It looks good enough to hit the centre, really. 

And it does. Sort of. 

It’s not the centre ring like Donghyuck’s last few shots. But it’s the best Jaemin’s had all morning and the little collection of witches all cheer. 

“Better,” Jeno cheers, flashing Jaemin a happy smile. Feeling proud. 

Jaemin pouts, eyes narrowed as he stares at the target and Jeno knows he’s appraising himself. Trying to figure out exactly what he’d done then to get it right. 

“Still feels the same as before,” he admits, and Jeno laughs. 

“Just have to try again,” he says, gently, standing back and watching as Chenle takes his turn, the young witch striking a decent shot and Jisung claps good-naturedly. 

Hyuck is too distracted by Jungwoo who is sitting perched in the open gable of the promenade to notice Jaemin taking his turn. And so Jeno watches Jaemin adjust his posture himself. It’s better, and Jeno lets him take the shot. 

“See, you’re doing fine,” he says as the arrow strikes the centre circle again, resting a comforting palm against Jaemin’s lower back. 

“Got a good teacher, I guess,” Jaemin says, flashing Jeno a bright smile that makes him laugh. 

Truthfully, it’s got less to do with Jeno than he’d like to claim. None of them are really a bad shot. 

Heechul has always encouraged learning of all kinds and while most Witches tended to lean more towards their magical proclivities, Heechul didn’t allow them to disregard combat. They had all trained together as children, Jeno included amongst the herd of different aged witchlings. 

And while he would, in turn, go to his own more extensive lessons with the Witch Guard, they had spent most of their youth testing each others limits in much the same manner as now. 

And while Jaemin had chosen to keep learning how to fight, has been dedicated to being able to hold his own. When it comes to the bow, Donghyuck truly does have the upper hand. 

And he always makes it look impossibly easy, which for Jaemin – who has always actively _tried_ – it’s especially infuriating. 

This is a game they have played before, and they all find the same delight when Hyuck can’t keep his mouth shut. 

“I don’t need teaching, I have _talent_ ,” Hyuck says, primly, nose stuck up in the air as he takes another shot, lazily hitting his mark and this time Renjun makes a loud retching noise at the same time Jungwoo laughs, tossing his head back. Chenle and Jisung falling somewhere in between. 

“You better keep your distance Ducky, because I’m going to _crush_ you!” Jaemin threatens, shoving his bow at Jeno and making a mad dash towards Donghyuck who makes a break for it across the training grounds, wailing dramatically at the top of his lungs. 

Jeno laughs, feeling it bubble up out of his chest as Jaemin catches up with Hyuck faster than even Hyuck was prepared for given the shocked scream he lets out. But it’s nice, hearing Hyuck laugh between screeches. 

Jeno’s missed it. 

It’s only been a few weeks since the soldier’s have left, but that has been more than enough to feel a little more protective over their little Witch of the Sun. 

He’s been a little quieter. A little more strained. A little more sad.

Seeing him laugh makes an undue tension in Jeno relax and when he glances down at Renjun he notes quietly that the other Witch is watching Donghyuck carefully as well. 

It’s what they do, after all. Take care of each other. 

Halfway across the field Jaemin finishes tickling Donghyuck and sweeps the loudly complaining Witch of the Sun up onto his shoulder and starts marching him back towards them. 

“What have we got going on here?” a familiar voice asks, and Jeno turns around to catch Captain Jung and Mark watching the spectacle. Jungwoo immediately perks up from where he’s been almost lounging in the window of the promenade. 

“Just a little friendly competition,” Jungwoo says, eyes firmly on Captain Jung with a curious little smile. 

“Hyuck keeps beating him,” Chenle declares loudly and Jeno can’t help but laugh, twisting the bow between his palms as he watches Jaemin start to jog in circles and Hyuck starts wailing again. 

“I didn’t know the witches could fight,” Mark says, sounding curious as he peers over at their arrow-studded targets. Jaehyun laughs. 

“Oh Markie, you’ve really got a lot to learn,” Jaehyun teases, ruffling the Lieutenant’s dark hair. 

Mark scrunches his nose up and thumps the Captain on the chest. 

“I meant like us,” he adds. 

“Not everyone does,” Renjun says and both soldiers glance down at where he’s been watching the show and sorting through a small collection of dried herbs. Renjun flashes a sharp smile that seems to drift over to Jeno. 

Jeno knows what that look implies. 

Not everyone knows about Jaemin’s private lessons. But Injunnie does.

Jeno just smiles, promising retribution if he gives it away, and Renjun snorts. Looking pleased. 

“What he means is that it’s voluntary,” Jeno says. “Shooting is just the most popular.” 

“What about a friendly competition then? Mine versus yours?” Captain Jung says, but his gaze is firmly fixed on Jungwoo, who purses his lips and breaks out into a tricky smile. 

“Well, Jeno, what say you?” Jungwoo asks, eyes glimmering with amusement and Jeno can’t help but give into the spark of excitement that starts to buzz under his skin. The urgency to give into it and _indulge._

Jungwoo’s magic is curious and powerful but its biggest strength is always in how easily it sparks. How simply he can affect those around him. Jeno knows it, because he’s been taught to take notice. 

But that doesn’t stop him giving in. 

“Sure, hyung,” he says and Jungwoo’s smile broadens, almost preening. 

“Yes!” Chenle crows excitedly as Jungwoo as he turns his attentions back to the two poor soldiers.

“C’mon Mark, you’ve got a good eye. What about it?” Jaehyun asks, peering down at his Lieutenant whose expression flutters in surprise. 

“I mean, you know I can shoot, hyung, but I dunno...” he says and Jaehyun laughs. 

“Alright. I’ll bite. Beat Jeno and I’ll find you a fledgling.” 

“Shit, that’s not _fair!”_ Mark squawks and the laugh Captain Jung lets out is belly deep, his dimples on full display. 

The Captain asks, turning his dimpled smile towards Jeno. 

“What about you?” 

And without thinking Jeno’s gaze slips back to Hyuck where he is still yelling at Jaemin’s attacks. 

“I want Bloodwood paper. From the eastern shores,” he says, like anyone else knows what that is except Renjun. 

“Well I have no idea what that is, but I immediately feel broke,” Jaehyun says, with a good-natured clap. “Okay then, since this seems to be getting way out of hand, how about a good old sparring match instead? Really make it worth our while. Jeno?” 

“What about Jeno?” Hyuck interrupts loudly, still slung over Jaemin’s back as the two finally make their way back over to the group, their curiosity piqued. 

“Jeno’s going to kick Mark’s ass!” Chenle crows. Jaemin raises a brow as he peers at Jeno. 

He shrugs, because he’s not quite sure how they got this far either. 

But he’s not one to turn down a match. 

“Are you really?” Jaemin asks and Jeno shrugs again, glancing at Mark who seems to be shirking a little under the attention from so many witches at once. It’s cute. 

“Will you still love me if I don’t?” he teases. Jaemin grins, wide, eyes sparkling. 

“No!” Hyuck declares loudly and Jaemin swats his butt and hums. 

“Hush now, Ducky, we have to wait and see how bad it is first.” 

“Well, how about it?” Jeno asks, flashing Mark a smile. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited, but he’s more than happy to let it go if Mark doesn’t want it. 

But, the soldier casts a quick glance at Captain Jung who has his arms folded and brow quirked like he’s expectant and goading the soldier on. 

And it works because Mark squares his shoulders. 

“Alright yeah,” Mark says and Captain Jeong laughs. 

Jeno flashes Jaemin a wink and starts leading the way towards the closest sparring arena to the sound of his witch’s giddy laughter. 

Mark catches up quickly as he reaches the practice weapons at the far edge of the practice ring. 

“So, what do you think: swords or pikes?” Jeno asks, peering at the way Mark is shooting a wary look over at the Witches now lurking around the edge of the sparring ring like a chorus of loudly squawking birds. 

And it’s only with a moment’s focus that he notes the Lieutenant is looking at Donghyuck. 

“Mark?” Jeno prompt again and this time Mark seems to hear him. 

“Swords,” Mark says, decisively, finally turning his attention to the training swords. Jeno flashes him a smile. 

“Excellent,” he says, before he starts poking around the practice stand for his favourites. There’s one with a slightly curved grip that has the perfect weight and balance that is usually in one of the other training rings, but he knows there’s one that’s similar over here and spots is lurking at the back and snatches it up. Testing the weight of it as he rolls his wrist and carries through to a wider swing. 

It’ll do. 

“Just remember. No death, please! Accident or otherwise,” Jaehyun calls, sounding almost giddy. 

Mark snorts.

“Thanks. I think,” he says and Jeno flashes him a smile. 

“Ya Jeno, break his legs!” Hyuck shouts and even though Mark shoots Donghyuck a very open glare this time Jeno cant help but laugh at the hushed voices trying to remind Hyuck that’s not what the phrase is. 

“I said what I said!” Jeno hears Hyuck reply indignantly as he spins the dulled practice weapon around, testing the weight of the tang against the blade as he moves it about his body. 

Jeno has always tried to stay excited about learning. Learning how to control and move his body. Learning his limits. 

And he does. He loves being able to push himself. 

Loves _training._

And the more people he learns with, learns _against_ , the stronger he can be. 

Morning drills with Captain Siwon and the other guard are compulsory, for the good of the Heart and it’s witches. For the good of himself. 

His secret sparring sessions with Jaemin have always been for _them_. Jaemin wants to learn. Wants to know how to fight for himself and Jeno has always appreciated having someone to learn with, even if he’s the one doing most of the teaching. 

It’s easy, with Jaemin, because they know each other. Know what they want from their sessions. They know how each other moves, how each other fights. 

Lieutenant Mark Lee, however, is another thing altogether. 

Fighting someone like Mark, is just for _Jeno_.

He has been training for over half his life now, but sparring with the soldier from the Wall is a fight he’s never had before and it’s _thrilling._

“Ready?” Jeno asks, resting on the balls of his feet as he stares the other soldier down. 

Mark breathes in, eyes narrowed as he bends his knees, preparing to strike. 

“Ready,” he agrees. 

And then it’s on. 

It’s obvious pretty quick that Mark clearly likes the sword and he’s _good at it._

There’s very little _style_ to Mark’s movements. There are echoes of it, but it’s clearly been shaved away in place of something much closer to brawling. And even though the swords are dull, Jeno has to dart completely out of the way to avoid a bruise that would see Jaemin breaking Mark’s legs if it had landed

Not to mention he’s surprisingly strong. 

Looking at him, Jeno knows he’s not weak. Especially given Mark’s history. 

Mark had started out as a carrier boy. Lugging bags and equipment around for his Commander’s, and then he had graduated from that into Johnny’s personal Hawker. 

Jeno’s carried some of the cages for the messenger birds up and down from the tower a few times in his life. And they’re _heavy._ The cages are thick solid metal, and large enough for the birds to stretch their wings while they’re perched, and given the size of some of the crows, that alone adds weight again. 

Mark is sturdy. Small but _strong_ . And he moves _quick._

He telegraphs his movements way more than he should, and if Siwon got his hands on him Jeno knows Mark would be _in for it._

But while Jeno might be able to pick how Mark is going to attack, where he’s aiming, it’s still a fight. Mark’s diversity is definitely his advantage and he fights with intention. 

He goes for the limbs, aims to slow Jeno as much as he can but any chance he has to try for what would normally be a killing blow, he takes it. 

Jeno hasn’t fought like this in a long time. Where he actually feels a little disarmed. 

But it’s still over faster than the soldiers were probably expecting, given the surprised look on Mark’s face when Jeno disarms him with his own momentum, before sweeping the blade back out of Mark’s hands and then easily knocking his feet out from under him in a quick _one, two, three._

It happens so fast it’s clear the poor lieutenant doesn’t really have any idea how it goes down. 

Jeno grins as he looks over at the whooping little herd of Witches. Where Jaemin is crowing obnoxiously and blowing him kisses like he’s a knight in one of the stories they used to hear as babes. 

“Holy shit,” Mark groans and Jeno laughs, turning back to offer the dumbfounded soldier his hand. Mark takes it and Jeno hefts him up onto his feet, slapping some of the dust off his shoulders as Mark groans and looks himself over. 

“I have no idea how you did that,” he admits and Jeno laughs. 

“It’s all just tricks. I don’t think you’d find it helpful except to knock a snotty noble on his ass,” he admits and that makes Mark laugh. 

“You’d be surprised how many of those end up on the Wall,” Mark groans, bending down to pick up his chosen practice sword. 

When they make their way back over to the side of the training circle, Hyuck and Jaemin have finished whooping though Jaemin makes a dramatic show of pulling Jeno over and kissing him fiercely. 

And so when Jaemin breaks the kiss Jeno has to fight to catch his breath and not completely turn to ashes with embarrassment. Jaemin, on the other hand, shows not a shred of shame with his giddy smile and dancing eyes. 

“Gotta say I do _not_ remember that move from training,” Captain Jeong says, sounding impressed as he breaks his hug with Mark to clap Jeno good naturedly on the back. 

“Didn’t get it from Captain Siwon, sir,” Jeno says, still a little breathless and stupid. 

“Well let me know if you feel like sharing. I’d like to kick Johnny’s ass and he wouldn’t know what hit him,” Captain Jung laughs and Jeno just nods to the sound of Donghyuck cackling. 

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰ 

It was a matter of pride, Taeyong had been told once. The way the Witches appeared to the world. The seamstresses work reflected their home. The Pride of White Stone.

And Taeyong thinks he understands it a little easier now as Mistress Jin gives Johnny a generous shove, urging him off the dressing stand where he had been kneeling for her. His knees must ache but he hadn’t shifted even once as the elderly woman had set about pinning the lines of his winter overcoat and adjusting the fit of the leather under armour, ensuring that the soldiers movement is as free and precise as can be. Adjusting the clasps of the beautiful gorget around his neck, each piece made out of silver metal and white leather; engraved with the lightning of Taeyong’s personal sigil. An emblem that would mark him as Taeyong’s personal Witch Guard. 

This is a change that has been weeks coming and one Taeyong has been looking forward to. Updating his armour to the filigree that Johnny deserves as Taeyong's partner. 

  
It’s hard to tell, however, how Johnny is feeling as he stands and shakes out his stiff muscles. 

He’s polite of course, and grateful to be free; Taeyong can feel echoes of that across the bond easily enough. 

But as for how Johnny feels at his change of uniform. A uniform that means a great deal in either direction... 

“You looked very handsome,” he says as Mistress Jin herds them out of her quarters as she has done each time they have left her with adjustments to Taeyong's overhaul. 

“You think I suit the white?” Johnny asks, eyes bright and cheeky. He’s fishing for compliments and Taeyong isn’t sure if they’re really what he wants. 

“What do you prefer?” Taeyong asks, thinking of that first moment he had seen Johnny all those weeks ago now. Arriving down the path beset by cherry blossoms. His closest soldier’s at his back. Dressed in Officer’s black. 

He had been a memory and a wish, a broken future that had come back to haunt him, and Taeyong still remembers how it had felt for his magic to _reach_ _out for him._

The severed ends of their Binding yearning to tie back together as they had done for only a short while. 

Seeing him now, dressed as he is, all in White, still aches all it’s own. A future they had promised to each other returned to them. Something alien and unfamiliar to what Taeyong had ever imagined. 

But now they were whole. Two parts of a single thread, just as they had always sworn they’d be. And as much as the white of the Witch Guard echoes with old promises.

Taeyong would much rather honour the new ones they have made. 

“I don't know,” Johnny says, and Taeyong can feel the edge of discomfort as it creeps through Johnny’s teasing and so he reaches out to reassure him, only to jump when a roaring shout echoes across the castle grounds. 

And with a panicked rush, Taeyong dashes to the edge of the promenade where he can see down into the training yard. And there is another raucous cry as two figures charge towards each other, and Taeyong nearly has a heart attack as he recognises a familiar head of blonde hair, as the young witch hits the dirt hard to another round of shouting, this one tempered by breathless laughter. Chenle’s loudest of all. 

But Taeyong’s heart hasn’t stopped as the larger of the two figures stands up and offers Chenle his hand. There is lighting prickling between his fingertips as he leans over the balustrade when Johnny’s arm sneaks around his waist and holds him still.

“Jaehyun wont hurt him,” he says and it takes Taeyong a moment for things to settle, for his heart to slow and it’s easier to see then, the familiar broad shoulders and windswept brown hair. 

Jaehyun appears to be showing the witchlings how to wrestle and just as both Chenle and Jaehyun reach about a metre or two apart Chenle makes another mad dash for the Captain’s knees with a yell. Another round of laughter and shouting echoes across the yard. 

Their joy blossoms, bright and infectious and for a moment Taeyong’s heart aches as he remembers the days they had been quiet and ill. 

“We never would have got away with that. I’m surprised Siwon isn’t down there putting them all in swaddling and knocking Jaehyun’s lights out himself,” Johnny says, leaning his weight against the guardrails. 

“He tried and failed years ago. I think he’s long given up. So long as they’re in the castle grounds and they have at least Jeno on hand he’s happy.” Taeyong replies and Johnny lets out a delighted laugh. His gaze fixated down on the yard, and a pair of figures that don't belong to Taeyong or his Witchlings.

“You can join them if you like?” Taeyong says, delighted with the way it feels to echo Johnny’s surprise. His own joy.

“You don't think I’m too big for games?” Johnny asks, eyes alight with teasing that makes Taeyong feel young and alive again. 

“I don't think you’ll ever grow too much for games,” Taeyong replies and Johnny grins. Preening. 

“Kiss me for good luck?” he demands and Taeyong laughs, but obeys the request and watches with eagle eyes as Johnny jogs back towards the stairs, looking out over the enormous yard. 

Only a few weeks ago, the soldier’s training area had been one of the last places Taeyong would have imagined himself spending so much time. 

And while it is certainly not outside the Witches personal purview, for the last five years he has tried to keep as shy of it as he possibly could. Haunted by too much history for a part of the castle that takes up so much space. 

For the younger Witchlings this place is a daily excursion. The boys waiting for Jeno and Jisung to finish training, or running weapons drills themselves as they’ve clearly done most of the afternoon. 

But Taeyong has tended to keep shy of the grounds. 

They had reminded him too much of Johnny. 

And now that Johnny has returned, Taeyong finds himself drawn to the training field right along with him.

Those old haunts, old paths opening up to them again. 

Slowly, but surely. 

And perhaps that is the best way about it. 

Their reunion, after all, was not slow. 

Taeyong had only let Johnny into his apartments that day to turn him away, to allow the soldier to bid him farewell and hope that permitting himself that closure he might have been able to survive better than he had done before. 

But it had not ended that way. 

Johnny had not been leaving for the Wall again with his soldiers.

He was staying, here, regardless of whether Taeyong had forgiven him. He had truly _come home_. 

And that had been the break. Where the truth could finally spill out. 

And now they are here. 

Johnny’s uniform slashed with the brilliant white of the Witch Guard he had returned to. His chest inked with the binding runes Taeyong had once drawn in charcoal instead of blood. Wishes instead of promise. 

And so Taeyong leans over the guardrail, just as Johnny had done but a moment ago, and watches as his Guard joins those below, calling out a challenge to his own Captain who turns away from teaching Chenle to shout back. 

Taeyong can feel Johnny’s excitement, feel the echo of thrill in his veins and he closes his eyes, letting the feeling of it wash through him. 

It’s still an alien feeling, but one so _welcome_ that it is hard to describe. It can be too much, too vibrant and loud. But when it’s not, when he’s at peace with it...

When he can believe that this whole thing is real. It is the most wondrous thing.

And so Taeyong lingers, watching his Guard draw himself back into the home he had left. The home he had lost. 

And Taeyong’s heart swells. 

But Taeyong’s heart is not the only one to which he stays true. And the Witch Heart is never quiet, and unlike his own, her demands must always be met. 

And so Taeyong finds his attention drawn upwards where the vague outline of the moon can be seen hanging high in the sky. Dusk is still an hour away, but the Moon’s gaze is still a powerful thing and when Taeyong looks up towards the open battlements near the western towers he can spot a familiar little wisp of white hair lingering over the wall. 

And so with a mournful glance towards Johnny, who is still posturing for the Witchling's entertainment with enough joy that Taeyong is wont to distract him, he traps his message in a wisp of sunlight that flutters in his palm in the shape of a butterfly. 

The little insect will linger until Johnny’s attention is easy enough to catch, and it allows Taeyong the freedom to slip away. 

The castle is quiet in the aftermath of the soldiers' visit. After they initially left it seemed to increase in scurrying servants, scrubbing and polishing until it was as if nothing had ever been touched. 

But now, with their fury abated, and the castle in her prime, the halls are quiet and Taeyong finds his way to the western battlements without interruption.

“She’s bright for this early,” Taeyong says as he approaches Taeil, the older witch lingering against the wall with his gaze fixed firmly in the sky. 

“She’s carrying messages for me,” Taeil answers glibly and flashes Taeyong a small half smile. 

It’s colder this high up, and closer to the clouds Taeyong can feel the lingering press of trembling rain. It will be kilometres yet before the clouds release their hold, White Stone is safe from muddy puddles and damp laundry for tonight. 

But it’s nice, up here. Where Taeyong can feel the sky. He doesn’t indulge in it much. He’s always been afraid. There’s always been too much power in it. Amplifying his natural abilities beyond what he had been capable of controlling. 

But, things change. 

Magic is ruthless, but she can also be kind, and with Johnny, well – she had brought him back home. And she had allowed that broken spell to mend. 

And Taeyong will be forever grateful. 

“Have you heard from Sicheng?” Taeyong asks, peering down at the training field. He can still make out Johnny in his private little world and further back the gaggle of witchlings causing far more noise than is usually found in the marshal grounds. 

It is a bittersweet question, especially from Taeyong, to ask of their Witch of the Moon. 

It’s been almost half a year since Sicheng and Ten left for the Black City, and while their relationship is not quite so vibrant as Yuta and Doyoung, Taeyong has known the ache of being separated from the one he loves. 

And to have Johnny back in his grasp while Taeil is still without. Well. 

It seems harsh to question him.

But Taeyong misses Sicheng too, and he worries. 

Taeil is quiet with his pains but loud with his joys. 

“Not for a few days,” Taeil says, absentmindedly, and Taeyong folds himself down to lead along the parapet in image of the other Witch. “But I have good feelings about tonight.” 

Carrying messages. Right. 

Taeyong smiles and leans his head on Taeil’s open shoulder, leeching onto his warmth. He feels Taeil press a kiss to the crown of his head and closes his eyes, indulging in the brilliant feeling of Taeil’s gentle warmth. His heart. 

“Are you well?” Taeil asks, gently and Taeyong reaches out to play with Taeil’s fingers. They’re smudged a little with soil, dark under the nails, but slight and pretty. 

“Much better, Illie,” he replies and gives the elder witch’s hand a squeeze. 

But before Taeil can say anything else he looks up, attention catching on something overhead and Taeyong follows along, peering up into an otherwise cloudless sky to spot a dark shadow of feathers circling just above them. 

“That one’s yours,” Taeil says, with a deliberate certainty that makes Taeyong double back. Because magic is fickle and she changes with the tide. But they all have their specialities, and Taeil never rings false. 

His Sight is not quite as clear as Yuta, nor as strong as Donghyuck. But Taeil carries a certainty the others can often lack. 

And as he whistles, eyes still peering upwards, the crisp note rings out against the wind and the raven circles overhead. Diverging away from the tower where her rookery sits. 

Instead she circles low until she swoops down to land on the balustrade beside them and offers out her leg where a thick fold of parchment is bound with leather. 

And so Taeil unties the letter and without hesitation hands it straight to Taeyong before digging around his pockets for a treat, offering the poor weathered bird a sliver of dried peach it takes with a delighted caw. 

And Taeyong looks down at an envelope sealed with a magical rune that sparks against his fingers. Familiar and fearful. 

And then he breaks it.

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

Jeno is bone tired and pleasantly sore by the time they all end up in the hall for dinner. After his bout with Mark he had ended up scuffling around with Captain Jaehyun until even Johnny had arrived for what was left of the late afternoon and he’s tired but happy. 

It’s quiet given the time of night, but he doesn’t give it much notice, listing over onto Jaemin’s shoulder while the witch shoves riceballs into his mouth like he’s worried they’ll run out. 

Not that there’s any chance of that without Jungwoo. 

Most of them had slipped away to wash off the dust and sweat and so it’s a smaller, quieter dinner than normal. Not to mention most of the older coven members haven't bothered coming down quite yet so it’s a quiet, peaceful affair until they’re almost finished when Yuta arrives with shadows dogging his heels. But instead of taking his normal seat, or even taking the empty spot next to Chenle, he comes around the far side of the squat little table and pats Jaemin on the head to catch his attention. 

“Hyung?” Jaemin asks, eyes round and mouth pouting in abject innocence, but under the table he wraps his hand firmly around Jeno’s wrist in a panicked reflex that has Jeno smiling into his rice bowl. 

“You’re wanted after dinner, Kit. In the Heart,” Yuta murmurs, soft and solemn, and Jaemin’s grip squeezes tight.

“Do you know why, hyung?” he asks and Yuta shakes his head, but he seems subdued and Jeno doesn’t entirely trust it when he answers.

“Heechul didn’t say.”

It’s not really a full answer but Yuta makes a point of not looking at either of them anymore, pulling Chenle’s attention entirely down on himself by stealing a prime piece of meat off his bowl. 

Jaemin frowns at the summons, but doesn’t seem terribly fazed, at least not outwardly, and Jeno tries to follow suit. So by the time Jaemin has decided he’s finished eating, Jeno has almost forgotten where they’re going until Jaemin heads down towards the gardens instead of upstairs into the private Witches apartments. 

Jeno has followed Jaemin into the Heart almost every day since they had first arrived at White Stone. And while the simple grandeur of the building itself has certainly lost most of its appeal, the unrelenting power of the Heart certainly hasn’t. 

  
Jeno isn’t a Witch, but with the runes Jaemin has given him over the years he does feel magic, and he can feel every time they enter the Heart like ice water down his spine. He shivers as the magic flows through him, and while the feeling only lasts a moment it always turns into a sort of warmth that increases the closer you get to the Heart Stone itself. 

Jeno never gets particularly close. 

Witch Guard never do. 

But as Jaemin’s Guard Jeno abides by different rules. 

For the others, protecting the Heart is almost a daily fare. But they line the walls, standing well away from the Heartstone itself. They are an ever-presence that lingers close enough to aid, but far enough away to be almost invisible.

Jeno usually never has much reason to be much closer than his fellows. Despite being Jaemin’s shadow, he has always taken to lingering no further than the top of the steps and never moving down into the well at the centre of the room where the Heartstone lies and the Witches weave their spells. 

Today, however, Heechul is running a spell through the Stone when they arrive, and while Jaemin bounds down without a care, Jeno stops at the first step, staying just beyond the shaft of moonlight that illuminates the Heartstone from the beautiful skylight far above them.

There is magic in that moonlight, and while it is still early Jeno knows to be wary.

He might not have a natural talent, like Jaemin, but he can still feel it in his bones. It’s impossible to escape even stepping foot inside this building. 

But the feeling is far more powerful this close, it feels heady and overpowering, like when Renjun is burning too much incense in the apothecary and given how tired Jeno had been before it just makes him feel muddled and groggy and he just wants his bed. 

But he can also feel his runes itch and he squares his shoulders as he pushes the urge back, holding himself tall and unwavering as he watches tendrils of chaos flutter between the crook of Heechul’s fingers, his eyes aglow as he draws his spell through the Heartstone.

It doesn’t last long, the elder Witch snapping the threads of his spell into wisps of smoke that smell like hot metal and ash.

Jeno shivers at the static in the air. 

“Thankyou, boys,” Heechul says, flashing them both a fond grin as he steps away from the Heartstone, and with a nod for them to follow he guides them up towards the back of the building towards the Library. 

But they don’t get quite that far, instead Heechul leads them over to the War Room and Jeno’s gut churns as he follows the elder Witch inside.

He isn’t surprised to find Leeteuk waiting for them. But he is a little shocked to see Hyuck standing on Taeyong’s other side as he and Jaemin find themselves facing the three Witch Princes all standing in alignment. 

And in the corner of the room, just a few steps shy of Taeyong, Johnny is resting just in front of the enormous War table. 

Leeteuk looks as solemn as ever as they gather inside and as Heechul shuts the door, Jeno cannot help the nervous little jolt he feels when the Witch turns the lock. 

Eyes wide he looks back to the rest of the room and breathes in through his nose as he settles, feeling the warm burn of someone’s gaze on him as he lingers a step behind Jaemin. 

And when he looks up he finds both Taeyong and Johnny’s eyes on him. Taeyong at the very least looks calm and collected, almost encouraging as he offers Jeno a tiny smile. Johnny on the other hand looks impassive and Jeno tries not to shift nervously under the Commander’s heady gaze. 

He’s not alone in his nerves. 

While the other Princes are impassive and Jaemin is as confident and forthright as ever, Hyuck, on the other hand, looks stricken. His face is pinched as he tries to keep his expression blank, but Jeno has known Hyuckie for ten years. He can see the way the witch is holding himself, can see the shine in his eyes and Jeno takes a subconscious step closer to Jaemin.

“Thank you for being so prompt, boys,” Leeteuk says and Jaemin flashes them a grin. He is relaxed and ready for whatever is about to come. 

Not for the first time Jeno wishes he had even an ounce more of Jaemin’s courage. 

“I won’t dance around the issue and why I asked to see you. As you both know there is trouble brewing at the Wall. While a large number of our soldiers have returned home, Commander Qian and his contingent have been recalled as a precaution and the Witch Queen is fast considering other actions.”

“Is there movement again, Teukie?” Jaemin asks, and for the first time Jeno feels the subtle shift of Jaemin’s bubble. 

  
“There has been a rising influx of refugees fleeing from the west. A number of them have spoken of a cloud, lingering around the base of the mountains. Yuta has been keeping an eye as far as the Stars will see, and yet we have nothing. Donghyuck’s cards See nothing but the No Eyed Raven. The paths in front of us are unwritten. We must be ready no matter what comes.”

“I understand,” Jaemin says, a little breathless. 

“The Queen has summoned Taeyong and Commander Seo to the Black City,” Leeteuk says, nodding towards Taeyong who remains impassive. “She would like you and Jeno to accompany them.”

“What?” 

“Your Binding has been long set for the summer solstice, but given current matters, we all believe it wise to bring it forward. It may lack some of the flare I believe young Chenle was hoping for it to provide, but the Wall takes precedence,” Heechul replies with a sense of forced pragmatism Jeno doesn’t entirely feel. 

In fact, his first emotion is panic and as he looks towards Jaemin, for comfort, for communication for anything – he finds nothing. 

Jaemin remains impassive and resolute as he flashes a smile.

“I understand. I’m happy to comply.”

“Jeno?” 

“It's fine,” Jeno says, more panicked than he intended.

He can feel Johnny’s gaze lingering on him, hot and heavy and Jeno avoids looking his way. He doesn’t want to panic any more than he already is, because now he understands Hyuck’s reaction. 

“When do we leave?” Jaemin asks, prompt and giddy all the same.

“In two days,” Taeyong says.

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

“I mean we all knew it was coming,” Renjun says an hour later, once they’ve retreated to the safety of his room. 

He says it a little more matter-of-factly than Jaemin really expected from him. But there is a sharpness to his posture that reminds Jaemin of a cat ready to hiss at the hunting dogs, and so Jaemin shuffles himself a little closer and tucks his chin over Renjun’s shoulder in a lazy hug. One that the witch allows without complaint. 

“It’s weeks earlier than planned though. It was meant to be the solstice. They were going to make a _thing_ out of it,” Hyuck complains from where he’s been since they first arrived, splayed out in front of the fire like a starfish. “I don’t like it. There’s clearly more going on than they’re telling us, which, excuse me, I’m a _Prince_. I should know.” 

“I think they’re being pretty straight forward about it, Hyuck,” Jaemin says, knowing that it’s not what the other witch wants to hear. 

There is a sad sort of anger radiating off Hyuck in waves, like rivulets of ugly yellow smoke. But just because he’s upset doesn’t really excuse him from being obtuse _and_ indignant about it. 

“Why? Because it makes sense in _their_ heads? Not everyone has all the facts! Including me! And I _should!”_

“I don’t think there _are_ as many facts as you want there to be. You’re not the only one who’s used to forewarning, and you’re not the only one who’s flying blind right now,” Renjun adds and that’s enough to get Hyuck to practically fold in on himself in a sulk. 

“I don’t like that everyone keeps being pulled away from where they belong and there’s no real reason for it except to be _ready,”_ He says mulishly, and it doesn’t take Jaemin’s magic to be able to see the fragile honesty in Donghyuck’s words then. 

“We won't be there long,” Jaemin tries to console and Hyuck just snorts. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

He doesn’t believe it, and frankly, Jaemin doesn’t either. He’s not even sure if he really _wants_ to come back here afterwards. If he could have his choice he would volunteer, head to the Northern Plains, to the Crossing Point, and help any refugees coming through. Its where he can be useful, where his magic would be at it’s best and where his fighting skills could be valued without being _demanded._

And he’s not against fighting for the chance if it arises. 

But Donghyuck doesn’t need to know that. Especially now, when he’s being particularly clingy and uncooperative 

“Is it just you two and Taeyong-hyung?” Renjun asks. 

“Johnny, too,” Jeno adds and Hyuck makes a face up at the ceiling. Things are finally starting to mellow out since Johnny and Taeyong’s accidental Binding, but Hyuck in particular is still bitter towards the Commander. 

Not that Jaemin can blame him. Everything that had gone on recently _sucked_ and Johnny had been at the centre of it all. The magic Souring had been one of the worst experiences Jaemin’s had in years and he would happily push the new Witch Guard off the top of the castle before going through it again, consequences be damned. 

But. 

Jaemin is a romantic at heart, and he’s _susceptible_ to other people’s joy. He feels it too keenly, and the relief, the unbridled _happiness_ that seems to radiate off the two of them lately. Well. Jaemin is finding it difficult to be angry. 

He isn’t about to be blind about it. He isn’t necessarily happy with their Commander, but he’s happy to step back and let things be. 

At least for now. 

And given they’re going to be stuck in close proximity with Johnny for the long trip to the Black City, well, its probably better not to be picking fights. 

Unlike Donghyuck, who has been standoffish at best to almost every single one of the three officers who stayed behind. 

“I mean, it's not surprising that he’s been summoned too. It could be anything. He was Commander on the Wall.”

“They broke rules. I mean, their Binding has been sanctioned for _years._ It’s in the book. But you’re not meant to do it without express permission – like, when and where you’re allowed. They’ll be lucky to come out of it without dampening runes,” Renjun says and Donghyuck makes another sound of complaint. 

“Boa wouldn’t do that! Taeyongie’s powers were strong on their own, and we’ll need him if the fighting starts up again,” Hyuck declares but given the look Renjun shoots him he might as well be whining at a door. 

“It might not just be up to Boa, though,” Renjun chides and Donghyuck scoffs, just as immovable as Renjun. 

“I still say they’re not going to be stupid enough to stick dampeners on Taeyong. I’m pretty sure those sorts of runes are _outlawed_ , anyway.” 

“They are. Just not for the Crown,” Jaemin adds, giving Renjun a squeeze, hoping that he has enough sense not to keep poking at Donghyuck. Not when their Ducky won't give in. He has his feet fixed and it doesn’t really matter what the topic is, Hyuck is going to keep poking at them until they give in to him. 

“Did they say how long it might be?” Renjun asks. Their poor Injunnie, the only one of the four who had been kept in the dark. Jaemin gives him another squeeze.

“No,” Jeno says, shaking his head. “But it won't be long.”

He says it like he means it. Like it’s something true. 

He says it as if it’s said out loud the Moon will listen. 

As if the Moon wasn’t the one who delivered them the news. 

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

  
  


Despite the secrets that linger between her walls, there are some things that even the Heart itself is wont to keep hidden. 

And there are those Yuta feels like she goes out of her way to share. 

It doesn’t feel like coincidence that he is with Leeteuk when Taeyong calls for a meeting, and had been – in turn – sent to fetch Jaemin and Jeno.

It’s like the answer to a question he’s been waiting for all day. 

But he honestly isn’t sure who told Doyoung about it. 

But, just as the Heart had lead him to where he needed to be, he cannot really be that surprised when he knocks on Doyoung’s door to find the witch already deep into his armoire. 

“I knew I’d find you in here,” Yuta says, eyeing the small pile of carefully folded clothes sitting on Doyoung’s lounge.

It smarts a little that the summons aren't even common knowledge yet and Doyoung has already made his decision and started packing. It doesn’t even really matter that Yuta knew this is exactly the route he would take. 

Doyoung’s predictability doesn’t hinder the fact that Yuta had hoped maybe his Witch would consider him first before his boys. 

But at the same time, Yuta hasn’t even considered not following after him. The moment he had been called to fetch the boys, he _knew_ Doyoung would follow them, and he _knew_ that he would follow Doyoung. 

And perhaps given the fact that there is one of _Yuta’s_ robes folded in Doyoung’s pile, perhaps Doyoung hasn’t even considered he would stay behind either. 

“Taeyong told you?” Doyoung asks, and Yuta shrugs. 

“That he’s being called to the Black City to be yelled at? He knew it would come eventually. Secrets like theirs cant keep forever. As for the kids, well. It makes an awful lot of sense.”

“I’m angry,” Doyoung replies, and then finally spins on his heel and Yuta can see the exact moment that he notices the haversack at Yuta’s feet, already packed. 

His eyes bulge and Yuta laughs, giddy and bright, at the dumbfounded surprise on his bunny’s face. 

“But you hate the Black City,” Doyoung says and Yuta shrugs again, ignoring the creeping shiver that runs down his spine.

Because he does. He _really does_.

The Black City is the centre of the conjoined Kingdoms, she is the focal point of the Witches spiderweb of power and influence, and therefore is where their draw is the most intense. 

Yuta has never felt comfortable there a day in his life. 

There is an intensity to any Witch who has stayed there long enough to let the ethos seep into them and Yuta hates talking to almost all of them. They’re all crazy. 

Yuta loves Yunho. He owes their King everything. Without him, Yuta would have been a lost, lonely boy drowning in the overcrowded rooms of a seaside orphanage. 

Yunho had offered him freedom, safety, a future. Yunho had brought Yuta to White Stone. To Heechul, where he had given Yuta a _home._

He had lost _everything_ ; his parents, their ship, everything and everyone he had ever known swallowed up by the ocean and Yuta had been the only thing it had spat back out. 

But not even Yunho could convince Yuta to stay in the confines of the Black City. 

And he has tried, more than once. 

The Witch Heart is a focal point of education and magic. She is a well of power and learning, but even the Heart is nothing compared to the Black City. 

Here they weave spells directly through their Heart Stone every dawn; their contributions to the surrounding prefectures is immense, the spells they feed out into the earth and sky, the wards they build along the Wall for strength and resilience are integral; but even that seems to pale in importance to the social hubbub of the City. 

It is where the worlds of Witch and Nobility intertwine, where politics means more than magic. Where every conversation is a game, and there is too much value held in power.

Yuta prefers it here. 

Where he feels safe, where he knows he can trust the Witches around him, the Witches he grew up with. 

Leeteuk has built a safe harbour in the Heart and Yuta is not the only one to appreciate her gifts. 

But he can't stay here. Not when Doyoung is leaving. Not when Taeyong is leaving. Not when he can't See what is about to come, but he can feel the tension in the air, like a shiver down his spine. The Stars are wary, their whispers fraught with uncertainty and it unsettles him. He needs to keep his people close. He needs to follow where they lead so he can keep them within sight. So he can keep them _safe._

That protective desire is almost impossible to ignore and looking at the fondness in Doyoung’s expression as he crosses the room to sink into Yuta’s hold, he couldn’t possibly imagine even trying. 

Doyoung never feels small. His shoulders are too wide and his body runs too hot for his presence to ever possibly diminish. But he feels vulnerable. He feels quaint and needy and Yuta wraps his arms around him tight and presses a kiss to the tiny speck of forehead he can see through the scattering mess of Doyoung’s dark fringe. 

And in that moment Yuta feels impossibly whole, like he can feel the expanse of the entire universe and he can be nothing but content feeling his arms wrap themselves around all of it. 

Doyoung is here, and whole and his. 

“I’m glad you’re coming,” Doie murmurs and Yuta squeezes him tighter and can’t help but grin at the tiny squeak Doyoung lets out in surprise. 

“You can’t get rid of me,” Yuta says, kissing his forehead.

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

There are many things about the Heart Johnny has forgotten. Small facets about the way Witches do things that the outside world does not follow. 

Johnny has spent months at a time with nothing more than the clothes on his body, his weapons and whatever he could shove into the pockets of his overcoat. 

Travelling _heavy_ for Johnny was a haversack he could carry himself, though few of his entourage would let him. As Commander, Johnny needed to look impassive at all times and impassive apparently meant fugal. Clean. 

One of the reasons Mark had been pulled into Johnny’s personal inner circle was as a means for Jaehyun to make him carry their shit everywhere. 

Mark had proven himself far more valuable than a pack mule in the interim, but they would need far more than Johnny’s lieutenant to carry even the small selection of trinkets Taeyong is separating from his improbable collection. 

Witches do not travel light. 

Witch _Princes_ even less so. 

And they have no real end in sight to temper Taeyong’s packing. They don’t know how long they’ll be in the Black City and Taeyong appears to be thinking in the long term. 

Either that or Johnny has forgotten far more about the practicalities of Magic than he’d realised. 

Taeyong has his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he potters over his collection, humming gently to himself as he finds the small crystals he prefers and with a delicious curl of his fingers he catches them in a tiny whirlwind of air like an invisible basket. 

Johnny’s heart wants to explode. 

As much as he loves it, he’s still getting used to the link lingering in the back of his head that strings between them, the impossible feeling of _Taeyong_ just minutely out of reach. The link is quiet, just as Taeyong is, content and easy. His focus gentle and calm and Johnny just revels in it, sitting quiet and watching his Witch. 

“Nothing is going to change about me if you blink, Johnny,” Taeyong says, with a mischievous smile. Tucking away a little silk pouch inside his chest and then turning to look at johnny, hip cocked. 

“I don't believe that for a second. You’re definitely going to disappear if I take my eyes off you for even a moment.”

That startles a laugh out of him that makes Johnny’s blood sing and he revels in the feeling of it echoing back at him. The little loop in his head that is just _Taeyong, Taeyong, Taeyong._

Not that Johnny is too far off. Almost every witch he’s known on the Wall has been transitory. Never staying too long, never stopping. A true Witch of the Court goes where they are needed, does what they are asked to do. Taeyong and Jaemin have been summoned, and so without pause they are going. No room for pause, no room for fear, despite what is promised ahead of them. 

Jaemin had heard his fate and grasped the weight of it. 

And yet Johnny had watched the same fate fall into Jeno’s hands and had seen the boy shake. 

That good hearted kid in Johnny’s memory had grown into a courageous young man. He is as good-hearted as he had been as a child, tempered by a strong resolve that has grown with him. 

Johnny had watched him fighting only earlier that day, the incorrigible joy in him as he had tried to knock Jaehyun’s knees out from under him and had succeeded.

And yet, standing in Leeteuk’s War Room he had faced a future that mirrored Johnny’s own and he had trembled.

He had looked towards him, _Johnny,_ and held his tongue. And Johnny hasn’t been able to forget it this time. He has waited this long already, had promised himself he would let Jeno come to him. 

But there is no more time for waiting any more. 

Jeno’s time is upon him, and Johnny cannot help but feel rather protective over him. This boy who has carried the same fate as Johnny all his life, promised to a boy he loves. 

But Jeno hadn’t left Jaemin behind. Jeno has kept his path where Johnny had diverged. And if he can give the boy this same ending. The resolution he has in their Binding, well. He cannot stay his hand. Or his tongue.

“I had a question, after the meeting,” he says, watching the way Taeyong cocks his head just so, showing he’s listening as he rises up onto his toes to pull at a row of little intricate pots filled with incense sticks. 

“Does Jeno still talk to Doyoung?” he asks, remembering how protective Doyoung had always been. Knowing that it’s not Jeno in this he needs to be most careful of, but their Witch of the Hearth. 

Johnny, after all, has already been threatened by him more than once, and while Taeyong might be Doyoung’s greatest friend. Jeno and Jaemin may as well be his children. And if he is going to lose his head over anything so far, Johnny knows it could be this. 

But still. 

“Of course,” Taeyong replies, and Johnny feels the moment of clarity ripple along their connection as Taeyong clears the cobwebs of Black City politics from his brain.

“Why?” he asks, turning to look at Johnny, brow furrowed, and Johnny can’t help but feel fond at the immediate protectiveness Taeyong is feeling at being asked about one of the younger boys. Even if it is _against_ Johnny. 

“A hunch,” he says with a gentle shrug. “He keeps staring at me, and the way he reacted when Leeteuk mentioned their Binding date being brought up. I think he’s scared.”

“Of course he’s scared,” Taeyong says, voice softer than Johnny is expecting and when he glances up his Witch is looking at him full on, eyes round and dark. 

“It’s a lot being asked of them. It should be for _them_ ; they should be the ones making the choice. But instead it’s being made for them out of necessity. You’re the first person he thinks he can talk to who’s Bound to anyone. Of course he’s going to want to talk to you.”

And that is what Johnny was afraid of.

“Do you think I should beat him to it?” he asks after a moment and Taeyong snorts. 

“And risk Doyoung’s wrath? No. You’re not out of his bad books yet, Johnny. Let Jeno come to you, and if he doesn’t then let me talk to him first.”

“Are you going to protect me from the Black City too?” he asks, teasing and Taeyong huffs. Immediately self conscious. And it's impossibly cute. 

“Not anymore,” Taeyong says, pointedly turning back to his little chest of supplies. 

“Liar,” Johnny replies and Taeyong huffs. 

“What about you?” Johnny asks after a moment of quiet. Taeyong looks surprised. 

“Me?” 

“Are you worried?” he asks, holding out his hand for Taeyong to take. The witch does so without question, letting Johnny pull him in close. 

“About the summons?” Taeyong asks, reaching out with nimble fingers to push back Johnny’s fringe. 

“Yes,” he replies and feeling an echo of something muddled across the bond. 

“A little,” Taeyong admits after a moment and Johnny hums. Relieved at his honesty. 

“There’s nothing they can do to undo anything, but… there are laws are in place for a reason.”

“We could play dumb?” Johnny says, unsure even to himself if he is entirely joking. Taeyong’s lips quirk regardless. 

“If only I hadn’t told Leeteuk the truth,” Taeyong hums and Johnny lets out a dramatic sigh. 

“If only,” he agrees. But there can only be honesty between them, now. Without it they have nothing. That much has been clear. 

Honesty is what brought them back together again, and Johnny is loath to risk it. Even if he can’t help but be a little afraid of what is to come. 

He has borne the brunt of the Witch Court before and barely escaped with his skin. 

But this time at least he isn’t alone. 

This time they’re together again. 

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

Yuta has never been a fan of the cold. 

It had always been inescapable as a child, on his parents’ ship. 

Despite her runes and his mother’s magics, the ship was old and wind rattled through her bones. She creaked and groaned and while the stories she told him kept Yuta full, kept his heart broad and beating, it had always been cold. 

That had been one of the biggest changes after everything had happened. Being inside, being _warm_ had been one of the most alien things, because the only place he had ever been warm was in his mother’s arms. 

And she was gone, swallowed up by the ocean she had loved, the ocean who had spat him back out. 

It became his solace, after a while. Being cold reminded him of the ocean, of all he had lost.

But being _warm_ meant being safe. 

It’s been nearly fifteen years since then and the feeling is the same.

Though Doyoung goes well beyond that. 

Doyoung is _hot._ He runs warmer than anyone in White Stone, and Yuta adores it. 

He twists inside of Doyoung’s hold and grins as the younger Witch makes a sound of distress at being jostled. He’s really a baby when he’s tired, Yuta thinks as he rolls over to face the younger Witch and tucks his head into the crook of Doyoung’s neck. He breathes in and feels the quick-start tempo of his heart start to slow. Doyoung smells like warmth, somehow, like singed stone and Yuta closes his eyes against the wisps of dream still clinging to the backs of his eyelids. 

Feeling needy in a bid to shake off the still-creeping feeling from his dream he wedges himself further between Doyoung and his blanket and grins at the annoyed whine he gets in return, as the Witch of the Hearth pulls himself back to consciousness. 

“M’what?” Doyoung mumbles, pressing a blind kiss against Yuta’s crown and then again on his forehead. 

“Nothing,” Yuta says, and bites cheekily at the cusp of Doyoung’s throat which earns his ass a smack and he laughs, rolling further on top of Doyoung just to be facetious. 

When he cants his head up Doyoung is peering up at him through barely-cracked eyes and Yuta once again feels a surge of affection for the man who makes his heart crash like the ocean again. 

He’d never thought that tempestuous feeling of roiling waves would feel good again, until Doyoung opened his heart to him. 

“You look tired,” Doyoung says and Yuta grins, raising a brow in consternation.

“You can barely keep your eyes open, Dons,” he grins, but the look on Doyoung’s face doesn’t change and he clumsily brushes his finger over the undoubtedly puffy bags under Yuta’s eyes.

“You’re making me feel great about myself here, bun.”

“Did you sleep?” he asks, and Yuta gives in, slumping back onto Doyoung’s chest with a gentle _whumph_.

“Weird dream is all,” he shrugs and Doyoung makes a non-committal noise in his throat. 

“Good weird, bad weird, helpful weird?”

“Just weird.”

“Again? Do you remember anything?” Doyoung asks, softly, and Yuta scrunches his nose as he thinks back to the fluttering images under his eyelids. 

Smoke. Storms. Stone. 

And a feeling, cold and empty in the pit of his stomach set to swallow him whole. 

He shakes his head to clear them all away. 

Out of all his magic, all his skills, his clairvoyance is his least favourite. 

Donghyuck revels in his Sight, and Taeil’s is so inconsistent it’s more amusing than attributive. 

But for Yuta it flutters somewhere between the two.

He has enough power in it; like the sun the stars See far more than they miss, and if he listened he could go mad with it all echoing around in his head.

It’s so loud, sometimes. The whispers. 

It’s why he likes the guiding stones. Oracles. Likes running his Sight through the Heartstone than without it.

It gives him more control over what he can See. It’s more useful, too. Or so he finds. He can be more direct. 

  
But without that sense of direction he can be as blind as the next person. 

He’s had encouragement to broaden his scope more than once and he knows with their inevitable move to the Black City those ‘offers’ are going to be impossible to avoid. 

He just wishes his magic had waited until they were on their way to start bending against his own will. 

But sleep is always when a Witch is most vulnerable, and despite what most want anyone to believe, they are all novices playing with the strings of their own destruction.

Taeyong has proved that perfectly well. 

Besides, he should be thankful his dreams are giving him anything at all. Donghyuck hasn’t been able to cast a hand without the No Eyed Raven for weeks. And any attempt Yuta has made through the Heartstone has Seen only the mountains themselves. The future is either unwritten or unwilling and it’s causing more tension with each passing day. 

And even the dream he just escaped was little more than a ghost of Sight long past. Whispers of something possible. Something to fear. 

“Not enough to be worth anything,” he says to Doyoung, who cards his fingers through Yuta’s hair. It’s getting long, and if he doesn’t at least trim it soon he’s going to have to start braiding it when he wants to train to keep it out of his eyes. 

“Promise me you’ll ask for help if they keep you from sleeping,” Doyoung muses and Yuta hums, closing his eyes and moving into his ministrations like a cat.

“Promise,” he says, feeling his magic curl around the words and sink into his skin. It’s not a promise worth breaking, not when Doyoung’s request is so forgiving. It doesn’t have to be him, and Doyoung knows that secrets are well kept when they’re necessary. 

And sometimes there are no greater secrets than the shadows Yuta glimpses between Starlight. 

Mercy Be he hates his Sight sometimes. 

But there is always help found to those who need it. White Stone is their home, every Witch here their family, and that family is greater than the sum of their parts. 

“Are you ready to leave?” he asks and Doyoung hums, scrunching his face up as he mentally checks through the list he no doubt has written on the back of his eyelids. 

Yuta giggles at the adorable scrunch of his nose. 

“I want to check what Taeyong is taking. I need to check in on Jaemin and Jeno, too. And try and corner Donghyuck somewhere. I think he’s trying to avoid me.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past Hyuck. He was upset enough at Jaemin and Jeno leaving as it is. As for Taeyong there’s nothing he’s bringing that can’t already be found somewhere in the vaults,” Yuta chides, as if he isn’t particular about his own scrying crystals like a toddler with a favourite toy. 

They’re all particular about their magic and what it takes to keep it focused. 

Taeyong is simply easy to tease, and – despite his promise – he still feels a little unsettled. 

Though he knows it has more to do with where they’re going than why or who or even what they might leave behind. 

Even the shreds of his dreams lingering in the back of his head mean nothing against the knowledge that they’re leaving for the Black City and he has no idea how long they’re going to be there. 

“I just want to be prepared,” Doyoung replies, pushing Yuta back so that he can finally climb out of bed. “Jaemin’s going to have to be introduced to the Court and I want everything to go smoothly.” 

“What would we all do without you, Bun?” Yuta muses, pride making starlight burn under his fingers and he blows a handful of them towards Doyoung’s glorious bare back as the Witch walks towards his armoire. 

Doyoung huffs a laugh, breathy and beautiful and Yuta grins. 

“Perish,” Doyoung replies, as he trails through his clothes trying to make a decision from what he has left after packing most of it away. Disappearing behind his screen to change and Yuta mourns him immediately, rolling over to try and watch the shadows of movement behind it. 

He grins brightly when Doyoung reappears a moment later, dressed in a familiar red shirt he has worn down to gentle softness. 

“You should wear the other one. Chenle’s going to knock over the wine; it’ll stain that one,” Yuta says, idly enjoying the way Doyoung huffs and immediately reaches for something older, made of thicker material and far more resistant to wayward stains thanks to the runes embroidered along it’s seams. 

Yuta simply enjoys leering at Doyoung’s bare back as he strips off the first shirt, staring at the way his tiny waist disappears into his pants. He’s wearing baji today, and Yuta can’t see his ass the way he can in his leather trousers. 

It’s another hallmark of what will no doubt be a disappointing day. 

“Stop staring,” Doyoung scolds without even turning around and Yuta grins, rolling over to sprawl inelegantly on his back, feeling his neck muscles strain as his head hangs uselessly over the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t ruin my morning view,” Yuta pouts and laughs as Doyoung’s discarded shirt hits him square in the face. 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

Mornings in the Witch Heart have a structure that rarely changes, and even his impending travel to the Black City the following dawn does not excuse Jeno from his morning drills. 

Frankly, he’s thankful for it. 

Things feel otherwise too untethered already, and so he revels in Captain Siwon’s strict regime as the Witch Guard go through their training. 

The other guys know it’s technically his last morning, and they seem to take enormous joy in choosing Jeno as their focus at every opportunity. He spends more time wrestling to keep his face out of the dirt than he normally does. But it’s a good feeling, really, and he appreciates how well it keeps his attention off the next few days. 

By the time Siwon calls for them to break ranks Jeno is happily exhausted, and _sore,_ sitting legs splayed in the dirt and not sure what he wants more: to sit there forever or breakfast. 

In the end he doesn’t need to make the decision on his own.

“You give as good as you get, pup,” Lieutenant Donghae laughs, offering Jeno his hand to pull him up to his feet and Jeno laughs as the older Witch Guard just lets him hang in mid air for a moment too long. 

Jeno is going to miss him. He’s going to miss all of them.

“I’m doing my best,” he grins and basks in the gentle bark of laughter the elder Guard lets out when Jeno hears his name being called. 

“Jeno!” Captain Siwon calls, motioning for him and Jeno tries not to let his smile falter as Donghae flashes a look back at Siwon as well. All Jeno really wants then is to retreat back up to his rooms and find Jaemin for a little peace.

It’s still barely past dawn, and despite how nice it is to train with his fellow guards, his _friends,_ it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s _tired_ , and there is a gleam in the Captain’s eyes that Jeno doesn’t like. 

Still, he can’t just disobey, can’t shrug it off, whatever the Captain wants. 

So he flashes Donghae an apologetic smile and wanders over to the elder Witch Guard. 

“Yes Sir?”

“Come with me,” Siwon says, motioning for Jeno to follow and the feeling in the pit of his stomach rolls over like a sad dog. 

As part of the elder faculty of the Heart, Captain Siwon has his own quarters, though unlike the rest of the non-Witches, Siwon’s rooms still keep to the lower floors near the barracks. It's a short walk but it's also not somewhere Jeno has spent a great deal of time. 

He’s been in and out of almost every Witches private rooms all his life, but despite _being_ a Witch Guard, Captain Siwon has remained an authority figure and this is bridging a gap that Jeno finds more uncomfortable than he expected he would. 

The Captain doesn’t poke at Jeno’s unsettled disposition, but instead is just as forthright as he is in the training yard as he leads Jeno in. 

The quarters are small, considering the Captain’s position, but homely enough. Instead of large adjoining rooms like the Witches quarters all have, the Captain’s is just one decently sized space split in two with a screen keeping his sleeping area out of sight and instead leaving Jeno facing a large desk in front of an elaborate weapons display and armour stand. 

A desk that the Captain walks behind and sits down, pushing forward a very large box in Jeno’s direction. 

“I know there’s a great deal going on at the moment, and you’ve been put in a position you didn’t necessarily have much choice in. But binding with Jaemin has been something I’ve been training you for since the day Heechul marched you into my training arena with your eyes as round as chicken eggs. I’ve known since that day you were meant for this.”

“Thankyou, Sir,” Jeno replies, far more confused than he would like to admit. Still, the Captain looks sort of wistful for a moment. 

“Not all of us get the chance to do what you and Jaemin will, Jeno. Most of us will spend our whole lives as Witch Guard without a witch of our own; instead we take care of them all. You get to walk both roads. It’s my job to make sure you can, and it’s been an honour watching you grow into the man you are today.”

“Thankyou, sir,” Jeno croaks and he’s surprised by the soft smile the captain flashes him. 

“I have something for you,” Siwon says, motioning to the large box sitting between them. 

There is a gentle curl to his lips in satisfaction and Jeno can’t help the little spark of curiosity that flares up inside of him as he looks down at it.

The box’s lid is light weight and plain, and it's clear once he opens it that it is meant only to protect what is inside. 

Because the decorated armour that glimmers up at him makes his breath hitch. 

It's perfectly polished to its most pearlescent silver. The plates of the pauldrons interlock so thinly they look like scales. There are tiny runes running along the edge of almost every piece, disappearing under the interlocking plates like secrets. Runes of strength and speed and resilience. Soldiers runes. Soldiers spells. 

But they are not the only embellishments adorning the armour. 

There is the familiar sakura engraved to sit on his left shoulder the way she is embroidered onto the coat he is wearing even now. But that is not quite what makes his heart thud in his chest the way it does looking at the sight of Jaemin’s own rose insignia emboldened in the middle of the beautifully shaped gorget. Designed to lay perfectly in the centre of Jeno’s chest. 

This is armour for a Witch Guard. But most importantly, this is armour for _Jaemin’s_ Witch Guard. 

It is beautiful, personal work and Jeno almost drowns in the immediate surge of affection that he feels looking up at Siwon. 

“ _Thankyou_ ,” he croaks, choking on the feelings he doesn’t have words for.

Siwon just smiles, and reaches out, taking the corners of the silk shift under the armour and pulling up what appears to be only a topmost-layer. 

Underneath is a folded coat that makes Jeno almost freeze. 

Jeno has worn white for almost five solid years now. He wears it with pride, the sign that he is a Witch Guard, and regardless of whether he stands on duty or not, he carries the right to wear that armour. To wear the white coat. 

This is nothing like any coat he’s ever worn. 

The Witch Guard of White Stone all wear the same plain uniform. It is noble and refined, and ultimately a little boring. 

Only the decorated soldiers, the officers, wear any embellishment. 

  
But Jeno is not staying in White Stone. 

He is following Jaemin to the Black City, and there the same rules don’t apply. In the Black City Jeno is going to represent Jaemin. He’s going to be a part of how the other Witches and the Nobility view Jaemin and Jeno needs to look the part. 

They are going to Bind, after all. They are going to become more than what they are now. And this is not a coat for Jeno now. It is a coat for the Jeno of then. The true Witch Guard he is going to become. 

His fingers are shaking as he reaches out and takes it from the box, letting it unfurl to its full glory. 

He can tell it has been made entirely for him, but already he feels an impossible fear he will not be able to fill it out the way Siwon has intended. 

“I’ve had the armour a while, but the coat needed a little rush to finish. I thought we had until the equinox, after all,” Siwon says, glibly, reaching out to tug gently along one of the cuffs. 

“Jaemin took a little longer to decide what he wanted to wear; so the poor seamstresses didn’t have quite as much time as I would have liked. But they did it for you, Jeno. This is the love of White Stone; take it with you.”

“Sir?” his voice is but a croak and the handsome Captain offers Jeno a softer smile, clasping him on the shoulder. 

“This is an important moment for you. This isn’t just about Jaemin, though the Black City may make you think as much. This is a duty not many of us get the chance to follow through on. I never got the chance. I never found my Witch, Jeno. But you found Jaemin a long time ago. This isn’t what I’ve trained you for, because I can’t. I don’t know what it’s like. This is something you’re going to have to figure out alone. But I have every faith in you. I’ve watched you grow, watched you learn. You’re going to have to trust yourself. And you, Jeno, are more than capable.” 

“You’re going to represent all of us in the capitol, Jeno. And so I can’t tell you what it’s going to be like. But I can help with this. I can help you look the part. This armour is for a Witch Guard, Jeno. For the first true Witch Guard of White Stone in nearly a decade. Wear it with pride. It belongs to you. Only you.” 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

As their last day in White Stone, Jaemin feels like he _should_ be more concerned, more tense than he is. 

Part of him isn’t sure if he’s processed it properly. What the letter meant. That he was being _summoned_ by the Witch King and Queen. To the Black City. For his and Jeno’s Binding.

Each step of it feels like a building nightmare.

And yet. 

It feels like an inevitability instead. After all, their Binding has been something that they have been planning for years. Jaemin has known the runes required for two of the three spells since he was fifteen. Had learned them well enough he can – and has – traced them onto Jeno’s bare skin. 

He has dreamed about what it would be like, being able to call Jeno truly _his._

And what a farce that is, given how much Jeno has always given him. Given how much Jaemin gives in return. They belong to each other far beyond the threads of some spell. 

And yet. 

His jealousy of Donghae and Hyukjae remains. His jealousy at _Taeyong._ That his hyung had somehow managed to convince Johnny to break the rules for him. Not only rules but _laws._

And there is something terribly romantic about that. About doing it for them, and not for the Court. Not for the whim of the legacy Jaemin and Jeno will become. 

A Witch of White Stone, with his very own Witch Guard. 

And still, Jaemin cannot wait. Cannot ignore the growing fire burning in his belly. 

And he knows not everyone shares his excitement.

Donghyuck has been unsettled since his soldier’s return to the Wall and has been temperamental by turns. But Renjun… 

Renjun’s bruised heart is a surprise. 

Leeteuk’s announcement that morning had been a surprise. Jaemin had simply thought they would let rumour carry the news, as there was nothing more powerful than gossiping witches. But instead the Prince of White Stone had announced their departure, their impending ceremony. There had been so much to digest, so much excitement in the room. Overpowered by Jungwoo’s delight. 

But once things had gone quiet, once there was space again Jaemin had felt the wounded heart next to him and found himself unable to look away.

And Renjun _knew._ It had flickered all over his face as he had looked Jaemin’s way and Mercy Be. 

Jaemin wishes he could pluck that sadness away. 

A lonely boy long ago, scared of being lonely again. 

Injunnie had been quick on his feet once Leeteuk had set them free, and Jaemin hadn’t been fast enough to follow him. 

But with Jeno out under Siwon’s boots Jaemin is free to follow the trail of his missing friend. Free to keep the secret that Jaemin should never have really known to begin with. 

And he follows it down into the Witchwood, where the forest looms beyond the shadow of the castle and the garden beds are thick with plantlife. Their leaves large and dark, reaching for the sun far above them. Fungi growing from the decaying length of an enormous tree trunk that had been dragged in from the bowls of the glens. 

It's a beautiful place, if damp and sort of dank, but the plants here are just as beautiful and _useful_ as the ones in the gardens above. 

And Renjun is ever-curious. Ever learning and building and growing. 

“Am I really so terrible you had to run away?” Jaemin asks as he approaches the shadow of his friend. 

Renjun scoffs, glancing back towards him and Jaemin comes face to face with the glint of Renjun’s athame and he takes a large step to the side. 

“I didn’t run anywhere. I’m _busy._ I have tinctures I need to finish now that I know you’re not going to be here to help next week.” 

And that’s an excellent excuse. Jaemin would almost believe it if he didn’t have the cruelest advantage in the world. The ability to know how Renjun actually feels. Know how defensive he is, how much he wants to shy away. 

“Do you want help stocking up, then?” Jaemin asks, keeping his voice normal, aware of how his presence is always so obnoxiously present. Because he knows it’s what Renjun wants. He doesn’t want this to be used against him. He never does. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to leave?” Renjun replies, reprimanding as he should be. Because yes, Jaemin should. There are probably a hundred things he needs to be doing. 

But the most important thing he can think of is standing right in front of him. 

He doesn’t know what it’s like to be lonely – he’s always had Jeno. _Will_ always have Jeno and that is his life’s greatest gift. 

He knows that. 

But Renjun doesn’t. Renjun knows what it is like to be left behind and Jaemin cannot think of a single thing that should take precedence over his friend’s unhappiness. 

“Not really. There’s nothing I can’t sort out later,” he says, and Renjun rolls his eyes. 

“Why don't I believe that?” he asks and Jaemin shrugs. 

“We both know Jeno is most of my impulse control,” he replies and that startles a little laugh out of Renjun that makes a similar sort of delight start to bloom inside Jaemin. He doesn’t want to push it on his friend. 

And so instead he slips out his own athame from his belt and takes to plucking the hardened blooms from a spidervine and setting them aside. 

Keeping the apothecaries stocked is a never ending task, and with an impending war on the horizon, they’ve all been spending more time brewing tonics and elixirs and balms. But with more potions comes an increased need for supplies. It’s a never ending cycle, and Jaemin can understand why this is where Renjun has hidden away. 

It is easy to feel needed down here. Where the need is never ending, where the requirement will never be reached. 

Especially for their Witch of Rejuvenation, whose powers are as latent as Jaemin’s own. But far more precious. Renjun, who encourages new life, new growth. Who can _heal_. 

Jaemin can encourage. His magic can make things flourish. But compared to Renjun he’s an intruder. A con man.

“Are you going to be alright?” Jaemin asks, a little timid. Renjun scoffs and shoots him a look, eyes narrowed.

“Just because you can tell what I’m feeling doesn’t mean it’s permanent, Jaemin. You should know that better than anyone. I’m upset you’re leaving. I’m upset I can’t go with you. I wanted to be there. When you and Jeno joined. It’s important to you both. But that doesn’t mean you have to treat me like glass. I’m not breaking. I'm upset. It’s okay.”

“I know that,” Jaemin tries, but he always feels a little off centre around Renjun. Always a little in awe of him. 

He’s just so… resolute. He has a surety in himself that Jaemin lacks. Because he’s not far wrong, Jeno is far more than just Jaemin’s impulse control. Jeno is the foundations from which Jaemin builds himself. Any moment where he wavers, he knows he can reach back and find Jeno holding him steady.

  
Renjun doesn’t have that, Renjun has only himself and yet he is sturdier than Jaemin feels like he can ever be. He is comfortable in himself and Jaemin never ceases to be in awe. 

“I’m just worried. I don't like it when you’re sad,” he says, like anything could possibly be that simple. 

Renjun scoffs again and reaches out to smooth down Jaemin’s hair, fussing over him, and Jaemin surrenders to it. Happy to let his Renjun fuss. 

Because that is what they do. When one of them wavers, they reach out. They care. 

It’s why Jaemin is here. Why he ended up in a squashed backwards Tavern in the dead of night with his pockets full of spells and contraband on his shopping list. 

“You’re sweet, Jaeminnie,” Renjun says, gently, “But I’m okay.” 

And Jaemin can feel the echo of certainty in those words. His magic trembles and shines and he folds his worries away as he peers over at the relaxed line of Renjun’s shoulders, the gentle curve of his lips. 

“Do you need anything to take with you?” Renjun asks, setting aside the bowl of little mushrooms he’s plucked and with a flick of magic alights the runes along the bowl's rim and it’s contents disappear into the storage rooms, leaving the bowl empty once more. 

“I don't think so. I wasn’t planning on taking much,” he replies and Renjun just nods. 

“Have you thought about giving Hyuck the Jinshil?” he asks and that catches Renjun’s attention, eyes bright and Jaemin can feel the echo of Renjun’s surprise and disquiet. 

“No. Why?” Renjun replies, eyes narrowing. 

“I’d like to give it to him. Before we leave,” Jaemin says.

“Jeno managed to win bloodwood paper out of Captain Jung with his fight against Mark. You don’t want to wait?” Renjun asks, using his athame to cut another mushroom from the decaying tree stump. The white flesh of each flower flashing against the dark brown of the treebark and Renjun’s painted nails. 

Jaemin hums, contemplating it. And then he thinks of Hyuck’s tense expression during the meeting with Leeteuk and shakes his head. 

“I want to give it to him before we go. So he has something to keep him busy. Like we planned.” 

“I’m certainly not going to argue with that logic,” Renjun replies. 

“I promise to tell him where we got it,” Jaemin adds, and Renjun snorts. Jaemin knows deep in his bones that the other witch is busy rolling his eyes and he smiles at the small victory. 

“I’d rather you didn’t, it’ll give me the advantage when I need to stop him from doing something he shouldn’t.”

Jaemin cackles. 

“You’re sly, Injunnie. But okay, I’ll keep my tongue. But what about you? What can I do so that you won't forget me?” Jaemin asks, voice over-sweet as he leans his head on Renjun’s shoulder, wrapping his arms firmly around the smaller witch’s waist. He truly is so slight, their Injun. Small and delicate looking and yet filled to the brim with something blazing and precious. 

His soul glitters, ephemeral and bright, and his roots bury deep. 

“I promise that absolutely isn’t possible,” Renjun says, this time flashing Jaemin a genuine smile, soft and small and breakable like glass. 

Jaemin beams. He’ll take it. He adores attention just as much as the next person, after all. And there is always something special about Renjun’s. 

“But what will you possibly do without this handsome face?” Jaemin pouts, pushing just a little more than he probably should given how Renjun’s athame is involved in the conversation. 

But Renjun’s burgeoning happiness is a beautiful thing, and Jaemin will tend to it carefully as one would a tiny flame from one very, last match. 

“I have _plenty_ to keep me occupied. Promise,” Renjun says, but this time his voice lacks it’s spine. Lacks the bitterness it had before, and a small smirk purses his lips. 

“Besides, you have the worse job of the two. I’d much rather stay here than go with you.” 

And Jaemin snorts at that, feeling the twist of disgust that blossoms inside Renjun’s chest as he thinks of the Black City. 

“But I’ll _miss_ you, Injunnie,” Jaemin whines, lilting his voice just so. Leaning into the smack Renjun throws back at him with a scoff of disgust. 

“Just come back alive,” Renjun says, voice tipped with an annoyance he doesn’t mean. Jaemin lets him have it. 

“We’re going to the City, Injunnie, not the _Wall,”_ Jaemin replies. Like he doesn’t know one means the other. Like they both don't feel like something is coming. Like they both aren’t sure that Hyuck’s No Eyed Raven spells more doom than if the cards say it themselves. 

Magic is fickle. 

Fate is worse. 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

When he had first read the Queen’s summons, Taeyong had known things were going to change. But there were things that would not.

The Heart, after all, is resilient and proud. 

And while her children come and go, they all inevitably return. 

It’s like the Heart calls them home, only when they are ready. Only when the time is right.

It’s why Taeil keeps his promises to Sicheng, why he waits without question even as the weeks have turned to months. Caught in the maelstrom of a boy, rescued from a nightmare.

And as much as Taeyong misses them, Ten and Sicheng both, he knows he will see them far sooner than Taeil or Donghyuck or Renjun. 

And so, just as they had done then for them, Taeyong finds a summons waiting for them when he and Johnny return back to their rooms. A little fluttering bumblebee, made entirely of light and magic who shutters and sparks as soon as the doors open.

Taeyong laughs as the sprite whirls around him before settling into his open palm. 

“Dinner, dinner, dinner!” Jungwoo’s voice echoes as the little sprite bursts and Taeyong laughs again, brightened by Jungwoo’s eager joy.

“I don't know if i should be relieved or concerned i’m leaving Jaehyun in Jungwoo’s care,” Johnny laughs as he crosses the room and sets his sword into the golden rack Taeyong had pulled out of storage long ago and been unable to remove once it had been back in it’s former home. 

“That’s going to be a question you’ll have to keep answering,” Taeyong grins. “But they haven't lost interest in each other quite yet.” 

“No,” Johnny agrees, and Taeyong glances back at the surprise layering Johnny’s amusement. 

“You’re surprised they haven't bored of each other?” 

“Bored isn’t the right word,” Johnny replies, unbuckling one of his vambraces. 

“Yes, well I remember _you_ always enjoyed sneaking in and out of the apartments like it was your favourite thing in the world.”

“I was young and horny and in love with you,” Johnny replies, shooting him a grin and Taeyong pouts, cocking his hip. 

“You mean you’re not young and horny and in love with me right now?” he asks, peering up at Johnny coyly through his lashes. 

It’s an elaborate show, but Taeyong is more than willing to indulge any time he can. It’s addicting, feeling the rush of Johnny’s body against his own. 

“Oh I definitely am,” Johnny replies, eyes dark as Taeyong steps towards him, rolling his hips with each step as if he can’t already feel Johnny’s eyes all over him. 

“And what about our dinner plans,” Taeyong asks as Johnny pulls him up against his hips, hands warm against Taeyong’s back. 

“And?” Johnny asks, voice low as he presses a teasing kiss against the corner of Taeyong’s lips. 

“Are we going to be late?”

“ _Fashionably,”_ Johnny grins, wicked sharp and presses another kiss against the scar under Taeyong’s eye. 

“How scandalous,” 

“I know we just made these plans,” Johnny says, pulling Taeyong in a little closer. And mercy be, Taeyong will never get used to feeling like _nothing_ in his hands. 

“Mmmm?” he queries, mostly because he knows Johnny wants an answer before he’ll give him what he wants. And he’s right. 

“They’re very good plans,” Johnny adds as Taeyong reaches up and winds his fingers into the hair at the nape of Johnny’s neck. 

“They are,” he agrees. 

“Would it be too remiss of me,” Johnny asks, kissing Taeyong between each word. “To reschedule them?” 

“Reschedule?” Taeyong bites twisting Johnny’s hair between his fingers. It’s getting so long and Taeyong cannot disagree with the advantage it provides. Nor how hot it makes him.

Not that Johnny needs any further advantages there. Not when he can drive Taeyong to distraction with tempered kisses. Just the gentle burn of stubble and the building distraction of his roughened hands against the sensitive skin of Taeyong’s hips. His skin shivers with each teasing brush of thumb against abdomen and he leans into the touch like a moth to flame. 

Johnny grins into the next kiss, deepening it with enough intent Taeyong cannot help but make a strangled noise in his throat. And mercy be he hates the way Johnny laughs, chuckling like he’s won. Because he has. He _has._

“As much as I’d love,” Johnny murmurs, pressing the words against Taeyongs throat as he kisses down. “To have Doyoung and Yuta glare at me all night.” 

“They don't glare,” Taeyong gasps, and gives Johnny’s hair a tug, his nails scratching against Johnny’s scalp and all it does is make the Guard nip at Taeyong’s throat with his teeth in warning.

“I want to say goodbye to my boys,” he replies, pulling Taeyong towards him closer just as Taeyong would normally pull away. 

But he doesn’t, not when he can feel the sincerity in a haze somewhere beyond himself. Somewhere beyond how much he needs Johnny to stop teasing and _get on with it._

“The night is yours,” he says with promise. With a kiss. “The night is yours, but you have to come back to me.” 

“As you wish,” Johnny says, and Taeyong can feel the smile against his collarbones. Can feel the delight under his fingertips and it bubbles on out of him. 

Brilliant and bright and bursting. 

“But you’re a dead man if you think i’m letting you go before I’m done with you first.” 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

It’s well past lunch by the time Jaemin finally crosses paths with Donghyuck. 

Since the moment he had left Renjun in the shade of the Witchwood, he had two objectives - avoid Doyoung and find Donghyuck. 

He feels like he accomplishes both by the skin of his teeth when he eventually finds Donghyuck down in the lower gardens. 

The Witch of the Sun cuts a small figure where he’s sitting cross legged on the low wall. The slump to his shoulders makes for a sad image and Jaemin shudders at the painful echo that runs down his spine as he gets close. 

It certainly doesn’t take Jaemin’s powers to know how forlorn his friend has been lately. And he wishes that he wasn’t such a partial cause for the sheer melancholy radiating off the little Sun Witch right now. Tucked away in the depths of the Heart where he had clearly hoped no one would find him. But just as he had with Renjun, Jaemin isn’t about to let his friend be alone. 

And even though his and Jeno’s departure is an undeniable fact, Jaemin isn’t quite so self-absorbed not to know that there is far more keeping Hyuck quiet and more private than usual. It’s not just Jaemin and Jeno. And it’s not just Xuxi. 

And as much as Jaemin is thankful to have Doyoung accompanying him and Jeno to the City, Yuta is as much a surprise to Jaemin as it was to the rest of them. And Jaemin knows how bruised Donghyuck is right now, how much it has hurt to be left behind. 

And for it to seemingly happen again so soon after his soldier... 

There are plenty of reasons Hyuck is a little storm cloud lately, and Jaemin wishes more than anything he could soothe away that hurt. And he could. With a little poking and prodding he could convince Hyuck to forget his woes. But it is never a solution. Only a balm.

The feelings always come back. 

Forcing does nothing but harm. 

So instead Jaemin gently tucks his chin on top of Hyuck’s bare shoulder and peers down at the neat little lines in which Donghyuck is shuffling through his Deck of Many Things. 

It’s an impressive collection. 

Jaemin remembers when it was barely a dozen; Hyuck had been _so proud_ of the twelve intricately painted cards. It had taken him weeks of painstaking work to have enough cards to even shuffle and the moment he had slipped them between his fingers for the first time no one else was permitted to even breathe within range of them. 

They had become like his children, and slowly the deck had grown, card by card, until now there are almost fifty if Jaemin could make a guess. Each of them just as personally designed as that very first. 

Some of them he knows, some of them he helped craft the spells inlaid into the delicate golden borders. 

But the _magic_ itself is all Donghyuck. 

His deck is _powerful_ ; Jaemin has always been a little in awe of it. 

“I’m surprised you’re not down in the taverns feeding chaos and ruin into the merchants guild again,” Jaemin murmurs, watching with keen eyes as Hyuck shuffles, cards slipping quickly through his fingers. 

Donghyuck’s Sight is almost stronger than anyone Jaemin knows, history book or Witch Court alike. But he is a charlatan at heart. His Sight is only one part, his cards another. And while the Sun bolsters both, she is as much a trickster as her child. 

Donghyuck reads futures, but he also has the capacity to lay them down. It’s why a Deck of Many Things can be so dangerous. Not all futures are kind, not all futures are written. 

But some are made in the careful shuffle of Donghyuck’s deft fingers and Jaemin is not so ignorant to ignore that. 

It’s why Deck’s have fallen out of favour with most witches within the Court, but not within the general population. 

Witches may not always be welcome. But their benefits always are. No one is foolish to turn a Healer away, and everyone seems far too foolish to cling a little closer to anyone who can offer a glimpse of the future. 

Far too few seem to understand that the future is a dangerous thing. 

But Jaemin isn’t afraid of dangerous things, and he’s not afraid of Donghyuck. 

“Will you cast my cards?” he asks, reaching out to curiously poke the golden edge of Donghyuck’s Deck. And Hyuckie swats his hand away and continues to shuffle. 

  
“What could you possibly want to know?” he asks, an edge to his voice and a ripple of uncertainty flickering around him like fireflies. 

And Jaemin wont let that stand. 

“Only the stupid shit you’ll get up to while I’m gone,” he says 

“Don’t be dense,” Hyuck murmurs, chin tucked tight as he hunches down around the grip Jaemin has around his waist. Jaemin shuffles in a little closer. 

“We both know you’re taking all the stupid with you,” he says, a bloom of delight bursting up out of him and Jaemin grins at the feeling, pressing a kiss to the back of Donghyuck’s neck. 

“I’m sorry you can’t come with us.” 

Hyuck sneers. 

“Leeteuk wont let everyone leave. Yuta’s Sight is better suited to answering to the Court than I am. Even if I could See anything anyway.” 

“Stop it,” Jaemin warns and squeezes tight where he has his arms low around Hyuck’s belly, who squawks and burrows into a smaller ball. 

“Stop being mean to me,” he whines and Jaemin just shuffles a bit closer still and pokes at the cards hanging loose in Hyuck’s grip again.

“Tell me how the city’s going to go,” he says, and Hyuck groans. It’s all for dramatics, however. It doesn’t take magic to know that. 

Donghyuck picks up his deck and shuffles, the black cards gliding through dexterous fingers, glimmering with golden rings and dark ruby nails. 

“Take your pick,” he goads, holding the cards out so that Jaemin can poke idly at the spread of cards between Hyuck’s fingers. 

And this Jaemin knows. His magic flutters under his fingers as he eyes the cards, taking each one from the deck with care. 

“How many?” he asks as he pulls a third from the deck, laying it out in front of Hyuck’s crossed knees. 

“Five,” Hyuckie declares and so Jaemin obeys, plucking another two from the deck and collapsing the spread of cards with a flourish, setting them aside far out of Jaemin’s reach. 

“Hold the question in your mind,” Hyuck says and Jaemin watches carefully as he turns over the first card, and it’s impossible to ignore the relief that runs through Donghyuck as the four of wands stares back at them. And Jaemin wonders just how many hands Donghyuck has cast where he is afraid of every card. Afraid that even from the very beginning the Raven will be staring back at him. 

“Two of Cups,” Hyuckie says as he turns the second with a snort of amusement. The Fool looks back next and Jaemin’s had enough of that from the way Hyuck’s laughter bubbles up out of him. 

And just as Donghyuck is about to pull the next card forward, Jaemin sets the little velvet bag down in it’s place. 

“Surprise!” he says brightly. 

He feels Donghyuck’s jolt of surprise and when he pulls back Hyuck follows the moment, twisting around to stare at him.

“What?” Hyuck asks, eyes narrow in surprise and Jaemin just giggles. 

“What, what? Open it,” he says, and Hyuck goes sort of still, peering at him expectantly before he finally turns around and plucks up the bag. 

Tipping out the familiar crystal bottle out into his palm.

“Holy shit,” Hyuck says, voice soft in genuine surprise and that is all the victory that Jaemin can possibly want from this. That beautiful perfect moment of surprise. 

“Jinsil Malsseum,” Hyuck whispers as he peers down at the bottle of astonishing silver ink. 

The Word of Truth. 

“We knew you’ve been thinking about expanding the Deck. And Injunnie said you’d run out,” Jaemin says without really needing to. Explanations aren’t really needed for something like this. 

  
“How on earth did you get this?” Hyuck says, voice rising into that higher pitch where it's easier and easier to rile him up, and instead of poking at him. Instead of digging deep Jaemin folds. 

“Secrets and Charm, Ducky. My specialities.” 

And Hyuck snorts at that, unable to stop himself, even as he peers down at the bottle of bespelled ink like it holds all manner of possibilities. 

And it does. 

“Just make sure you save some for when I get back. I wanna see you use it. It’s pretty.”

“Deal,” Hyuck says, falling backwards so that Jaemin has to catch his weight or make them both fall flat on their backs. 

“Jerk,” Jaemin chides, fondly, and feels the wonder spark under Donghyuck’s skin. Feels the resolution in him too. Something warm and comforting, just like the Sunshine. 

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

  
  


It has been a very long time since Johnny has found himself in a real tavern, let alone the old Pickled Pony where Chanyeol had first got him drunk on cherry wine when he was thirteen and he’d been carried back to his and Taeyong’s bed like the child he was. These rickety old tables have survived more wars than Johnny, Mark and Jaehyun combined and the tavern brings far more nostalgia to Johnny than Jaehyun’s plan to get shitfaced had probably planned for. 

He’s not even one tankard in yet. 

Still, it’s nice. It’s a soldiers tavern, there are knife marks in all the tables, each one sanded smooth after countless card games gone wrong and not a perfectly level surface between the entire establishment. 

The soju is cheap the beer is cheaper and there’s been an enormous pot of tteokbokki filling the entire room with spice that Johnny is pretty sure has been bubbling away longer than he’s been alive.

It used to be one of his favourite places in the world. 

There really isn’t anything _quite_ like the Pony on the Wall. 

Mark looks bug-eyed and giddy as he peers around the place, taking in each scuffed, old corner with more ease than he has the entire time they have been living in White Stone. This is, after all, more of what Mark is used to. His father was a pastor, and they had lived a humble life in the southern palls until they had become just one of a thousand lonely refugees seeking help here beyond the Wall. 

Mark had been lucky. His village had never burned. His family had never bled, never died. They had lost but they had been lucky enough to be able to be remade. 

Not all were given that chance. Mark knew that. It’s why he volunteered. Why he left his parents service for a soldier's life. He’s a good kid. He’s proven his heart a hundred times over. Johnny just wishes he would stay. That he would choose to take his freedom while he can. But he doubts it. People like Mark want to serve. They want to make a difference, and for Mark he wants the front lines. He wants to be active in the change. 

Johnny gets it. 

“We’ll start here and work our way up!” Jaehyun says, the table rattling as he gleefully sets down three enormous tankards that spill over his fingers. The beer smells sour and Johnny wrinkles his nose, but it tastes like a memory. 

Mark stutters, gasping around the too-large mouthful he took to start and Jaehyun cackles as he thumps his back. 

“You’ve gotta start slow, Markie-boy,” Jaehyun teases and Mark shoots him another glare.

“It tastes like piss.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Johnny smirks. It’s much sharper than anything they ever get on the Wall. Most of it is watered down to make sure the supplies last longer. Beer is beer after all, and it was favoured by almost every soldier. But that far up into the mountains supplies are always difficult to manage. The paths are long and the roads narrow in places, making for larger wagons to struggle or even come to a stop; forced to offload into smaller carts that can handle the terrain. 

Medical supplies and rice are far more valuable than the beer barrels that made the soldier’s cheer upon arrival. 

As Commander, Johnny has always had access to personal orders, and he’s not ashamed to admit he’s indulged more often than not. There was even a compartment hidden beneath the floorboards of the Commander’s cabin he had inherited that had been designed to hide a good full crate of soju bottles. Out of sight out of mind. 

“It’ll grow on you,” Johnny advises and takes another sip. It really isn’t the best, but it’s a familiar taste that has Johnny feeling terribly nostalgic and he tucks the feeling away. Knowing that Jaehyun didn’t bring them down here for him to wax poetic about returning home.

At least not the home that Johnny considers. 

No, this is about them. The home Johnny had built while he was away. 

“So, has there been any word of what the summons is actually for?” Jaehyun queries, brows raised as he takes a long swallow. 

Johnny shakes his head. 

“Neither of us are really anticipating much. Leeteuk had to acknowledge it, and it was never going to be something we could keep a secret.”

“They’re not going to demote you or anything, are they?” Mark asks and Johnny’s stomach churns. Because that is the question, after all. 

He and Taeyong have broken old laws, have defied the rules in place for their own gain. And while Taeyong’s magic is the ruling cast, Johnny is not innocent. He refuses to pretend he is. 

He had wanted it, his heart had _leapt_ at the opportunity. He can still remember the feeling of Taeyong’s magic running through him. The thrill of that _achingly_ familiar rush. 

He isn’t going to lie and say he regrets it. That he wouldn’t do it all over again. Because he would, every time. 

“Considering I’ve technically left Command, who knows,” he grins, pushing the feeling down at the thought of what could potentially come. 

The only thing he knows for certain is that they cannot take Taeyong away from him. The spell is complete, and with the impending war it would be foolish to do anything that would compromise someone with as much potential as the Witch of the Storm. 

Tales of Taeyong’s spells have whispered their way across the entire expanse of the Wall for years. The power in his lightning, the terror of a windstorm. 

And after all, Johnny’s own title has been threatened before. When he had faced the King the first time, all those years ago, Yunho had warned him. That his tenure was probationary and could be stripped of him at any time.

But that time has passed. Johnny’s _Command_ has passed, and his future is as open and blank as it had been before he left White Stone as a conscript. 

The only thing he knows for certain, is Taeyong. 

Always Taeyong. 

“Well, you know you’ll always have me,” Jaehyun grins, slapping Johnny on the back. “Dunno if we can say the same about Markie, here.”

“Hey. I didn’t go back with Kun did I!” Mark replies, loud and indignant and Johnny’s heart swells. No, he didn’t. 

His boys had stayed. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to make the most of it while I’m here then,” Johnny proffers and the two of them grin. 

The noise in the pub grows as dusk claims the sky, the tables filling as the night builds. 

By the time they get to their second tankards there is a familiar rattle across the room as a dice game sets up. It doesn’t take long then before Jaehyun’s gaze starts drifting over Johnny’s shoulder at each rattle of dice and the groan of a losing hand. 

Johnny huffs a laugh. It’s typical and familiar, and they could almost be back on the Wall for all it would matter as Jaehyun’s fingers twitch. 

“Get off with you,” he says, thumping Jaehyun on the back. It startles the Captain with a giddy jump that has Mark choking a laugh through his beer. 

“What?” 

“Off with you. Go play a hand,” Johnny says and Jaehyun shakes his head. 

“No. It’s our last night together,” he says and Johnny snorts.

“And you haven’t heard a thing anyone’s said for like five minutes. Go. Bring back more drinking coin.” 

There is another metallic rattle as coins and dice hit the table again and Johnny watches Jaehyun’s conviction crumble. A game’s a game. 

“I’ll be back,” he says and Johnny watches, belly warm, as Jaehyun crosses the room and charms his way into the table with little more than a word or two.

It never takes much. Gamblers always like an extra hand to lose. It’ll be interesting to see how lucky the dice are tonight. 

“Do you think he’ll win, hyung?” Mark says, watching Jaehyun with more attention than Johnny as the first hand is dealt. 

“Depends on what his luck is doing today,” Johnny says, familiar with the way Jaehyun wins and loses by turns. His streaks are long and golden, or burn short and sharp. Never anything in between. 

He swallows down another mouthful of beer and finds the bottom of his tankard frightfully close, and that just won't do. 

“Want another?” he asks Mark who shakes his head, still swimming halfway through his. And so Johnny gets up and pays for another of his own, idly watching while he waits the way Jaehyun sweeps his first pile. It’s rare Jaehyun takes so early; especially when he doesn’t know the players. It’s harder to keep playing if you keep taking their coin. 

“There you are, Commander,” the barmaid says, setting down a bowl of steaming tteokbokki with his fresh tankard, the dangerous looking sauce burning a brilliant red in the firelight. Johnny’s stomach rumbles at the smell of the spice and gluttonous rice cakes. 

“My thanks,” he says, offering her a gentle bow of the head before he takes them both back to their table. 

Mark is just as engrossed in Jaehyun’s game as when Johnny left, except there is a dark frown between his brows as he stares through the back of one player's head.

“What did he do?” Johnny asks, glancing the soldier’s way. The man guffaws, throwing his head back at someone else’s story and Mark just glowers a little more. Turning his attention back to his tankard and staring down into the reflection. 

“Nothing,” he mutters and Johnny scoffs, but whatever he was going to say disappears under the roar of disappointment from the gamblers and Johnny watches in amusement as Jaehyun sweeps another set of coins his way. 

“Can I ask you something, hyung?” Mark asks, a little more timidly than Johnny expected out of the boy and he blinks away his surprise and nods, taking up his chopsticks and picking out the first steaming fishcake. 

“Why are you going with them alone? To the Black City, I mean. Why won't you take me and Jaehyun with you?” he asks. 

And Johnny’s heart quakes a little at the wide-eyed kid staring back at him. Because he is, really. Barely twenty two and still looks too stretched in his limbs whenever Johnny sees him bare of his armour. 

“It’s not up to me,” he says, honestly. “The other witches aren’t coming for emotional support. At least not for Taeyong, anyway. I don't need protecting. Not from them.”

“But how can you be _sure?”_ Mark asks, with a little more urgency than Johnny was prepared for.

“They’re not bad people, Mark,” he says, surprised at the young lieutenant’s reactions. 

“I know _that_ ,” Mark says, brows pinched as he searches for an answer he can’t seem to find. “I know they’re not bad. But how can you _trust_ them?”

“That’s the sort of questioning that sees you out on your ass around here, kiddo,” Johnny says, sharply, surprised by the fixated glare Mark shoots the fire beside them at Johnny’s anger. 

And he watches, curious, how the tension just seeps out of Mark’s shoulders and he sighs, tossing the cork he’s been playing with into the flames. 

“I know you don't get along with everyone here, Mark, but that's not fair on any of them.”

“Sorry,” Mark murmurs. “I just don’t get it.” 

And so Johnny takes pity on him. 

“It’s a different world here. Magic is a whole different world than what it’s like for us. Thing’s aren’t quite as black and white as they seem. But I grew up here. You might not trust them, or this place. But I do.” 

“You’ve been gone a long time though.” 

“I have. But it doesn’t change everything. They’re good people, Mark. The world just expects different things from them.” 

“But what if they’re too powerful? Power corrupts. You taught me that.”  
  


And that makes Johnny blink. 

“I did. And it does. But I wouldn’t trust them if I thought they were corrupt.” 

“What if you don’t know everything? What if you just can’t see it yet?” 

“Then I’ve got a lot to learn. Why? What have you seen?” Johnny asks and the boy pouts. Biting his lip as he stares into the fire like it’s going to give him the answers he wants. 

“Mark?” 

“Nothing,” Mark bites back. And it doesn’t take much to know he’s lying. Know there’s something the lieutenant doesn’t want _him_ to know and Johnny hates what that means. Because it means it’s someone he’s close to.

“They don’t want you here,” Mark says, voice a little quieter now. Perhaps a little braver and Johnny feels the hand around his heart slowly relaxing and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“They protect their own, kiddo,” he says gently. “And I’ve been gone a long time. I’d be more surprised if none of them tried to take off my head.” 

“So you’re just going to let it go? You’re not even going to ask who?” Mark replies, astonished. 

“No. Because I trust them. And I trust you. You’ve got my back. And so has Jaehyun, even if he is six sheets to the wind,” Johnny says, glancing over towards the card game where Jaehyun’s winning streak seems to be doing his coin well tonight. At least for now. It’ll probably go back on ale. It’s easier to play if the winner is the one buying the drinks.

Mercy knows Johnny needs one after this conversation.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go back to the Wall with Xuxi and the others,” he asks, hoping to push Mark towards a brighter conversation. “Is that why you stayed?” 

“I thought you might need me,” Mark says, dully, gaze still fixated on the fire and well, that’s just enough to nearly make Johnny’s heart melt. Mercy be he loves his boys. 

“And here I go running away just when you stayed to protect me, huh?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Well. It’s not forever. We’ll only be staying as long as it takes to see Jaemin and Jeno through their Binding. Mercy allowed we’ll be back long before anything happens and we all end up on the Wall together right where we started.” 

"You think so? It all seems like everyone’s worried over nothing. We haven’t had any real news, it's all just here-say.” 

“And that’s the difference between here and back on the front. Magic does things that we can’t, See’s things long before they happen, and without the effort that goes on here, we wouldn’t see most dawns.” 

And Johnny had thought Mark understood that. 

It had always been hard, promising help that never really seemed to come. Telling kids who wanted tangible proof someone was helping, that more was being done – here in the Witch Heart, or north in the Belles – than could possibly be explained. 

Magic was hard, hard to explain, hard to learn, hard to accept. 

It was why places like the Heart existed, why witches like Heechul came to be. Witches who had turned their powers not to fighting but to education. Who could, in all ease, ravage the countryside but instead took in children and gave them families. Gave them purpose. 

Heechul was not alone in his endeavors, and not all witches found themselves turned away. 

But, there was always a divide. Power was something to be wary of. It came in many forms, but fear came easy when you were the one weaponless. 

“You really believe that, don't you, hyung?” Mark asks, staring at Johnny with wide eyes, guileless and trusting. 

“I do,” he says. 

Jaehyun’s game peters out then and Johnny takes the distraction with as much relief as he could possibly feel. Letting the distraction cut the air between him and Mark with altogether too much ease. 

Jaehyun however, is absolutely drunk when he stumbles back to the table and any hope Johnny had of an easier night is quashed as Jaehyun nearly topples the table tripping over his feet. 

“Mercy fuck, Jaehyun – “ Johnny swears catching him and jaehyun just sort of cackles and upends a little bag of silver coins over the table between them. 

“Look! Lady luck _loves_ me tonight,” he grins and Johnny snorts.

“Well, she also thinks you’re a mess,” Johnny says. 

Whatever Jaehyun had been drinking at the dice table has hit him hard and Johnny ends up making the decision for them, not really looking forward to carrying Jaehyun back to the castle if he lets them order another round. 

Not that it helps much, Jaehyun has just enough brains left to walk most of the way, though they’re on the last quarter when Johnny finds himself halfway up the staircase alone before he realises and turns back to find Mark trying to herd Jaehyun away from the lower gardens where the drunk ass could wander for hours if the Heart wished it. 

Johnny wouldn’t put it past her. Especially if he tries to piss all over her plants again. 

“Come on, hyung,” Mark is cajoling without much success.

“Jaehyunnie, come on,” Johnny calls and like clockwork Jaehyun’s head turns towards the sound of Johnny’s voice. 

By the time Mark gets them to the first landing Johnny knows Jaehyun is gone to the wind. 

“It’s alright Mark, I’ll get him back to his room,” Johnny says. 

Mark looks at him, swaying a bit on his feet himself. But he nods when Johnny just sort of pulls Jaehyun out of his grasp.

“Okay. Thanks,” Mark says with an awkward glance back and shuffles off towards his own room, leaving Johnny in the hallway with Jaehyun hanging lopsided off one arm. 

“Alright. Let’s get you to bed, huh,” he says towards Jaehyun. But it’s clear Jaehyun’s attention has drifted again. 

They get up the second flight of stairs okay until Jaehyun forgets to lift his feet when Johnny tells him to and nearly takes them both back down again. 

“Mercy be Jung Jaehyun, you are a heavy ass,” Johnny grumbles, nearly tripping as his Captain lets out a boorish _Hah!_ And nearly faceplants again. 

Johnny huffs and heaves him back up onto his feet again. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” Johnny groans, using far more effort than he wants to this late at night to ensure that his friend isn’t going to brain himself on the stone floors. Or kill him in the process. 

It’s cold and the fires in the sconces are dim and weary and Johnny is very aware of how many hours are left between now and dawn as he stumbles the last corridor with Jaehyun in what feels like an awkward three legged race. 

“Sorry I didn’t stay at the table,” Jaehyun mumbles as they finally reach the Captain’s floor and Johnny laughs. 

“I know you like your games,” Johnny says, ignoring the irritation that it’s _now_ of all times that Jaehyun’s brain seems to have come back online. 

“Still. It was meant to be a Johnny day. Say goodbye to Johnny day.” 

“You can say goodbye to me tomorrow morning,” he says and Jaehyun sighs rather dramatically. 

“I don't wanna say goodbye to you at all."

Johnny has always tried to be kind to Jaehyun’s tender heart. 

But coming back here is probably the cruellest thing Johnny could have done. He knew Jaehyun would follow. Jaehyun has always followed, and that – in part – is the problem. 

“It’s not for long. We both have our witches now, Jaehyunnie, and we need to think about them,” he says, kindly, and watches how Jaehyun’s drunk brain seems to falter, sticking as he tries to put his thoughts together. 

“We do! I do!” he says, proudly. “I have Jungwoo!” 

“That you do,” Johnny chuckles. 

“He’s very good, Johnny. He sucks dick so good. I think my brain is gonna leak out my ears.” 

“That’s great, buddy,” Johnny says, patting Jaehyun on the back as he heaves them around the last corner. 

He can see Jaehyun’s door from here. But it’s still a good march before they get there and he’s not really in the mood to be hearing about Jungwoo’s dick sucking abilities. 

“Does Taeyong suck dick good, Johnny?” Jaehyun asks instead and Johnny nearly trips. 

“Yeah he does,” he says and Jaehyun sighs, low and low. 

“That’s good. You deserve someone who sucks dick good,” he says with more gravitas than Johnny is prepared for. 

Thankfully he stays pretty quiet for the last yard or so and Johnny props him up on the wall for a moment as he opens the door. 

“Let’s get you into bed, Jaehyunnie,” Johnny says, kindly, wrapping his arm around Jaehyun’s waist and taking most of his weight again as he frog-marches him across the room and gently sets him down on the bed. 

He kneels down and pries off Jaehyun’s boots one by one and feels the drunken stare on the back of his neck keenly. 

“There you go,” he says, pushing at Jaehyun gently trying to urge him to at least lay down. But Jaehyun resists and Johnny doesn’t quite know if he has enough energy to push any further for something that simple. He’ll either curl up on his own or fall on the floor and Johnny’s too tired to stop him. 

“I’m gonna go, alright?” he asks, and Jaehyun doesn’t say anything. So he takes that as his cue to leave. He’s almost at the door when Jaehyun finally speaks up. 

“You’re coming back, right Johnny?” Jaehyun asks, voice tempered with something Johnny can’t put a name to. 

_Won’t_ put a name to. 

“Get some sleep, Jae,” he says, gently and closes the door behind him, heart in his throat and Taeyong’s runes burning against his chest. 

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

When Renjun had declared that no one would get away with eating in their room that night, Donghyuck’s first immediate urge was to test that declaration. 

He’s glad he didn’t. 

The dining hall feels like a memory right now. A glimpse into the way things had been not so long ago. Before the soldier’s had returned to White Stone. Before Johnny and the Lieutenant. 

Before _Xuxi._

And as glum as he knows that train of thought can make him, this one feels precious. 

There are empty seats at their tables. Ten and Sicheng still far away at the City. Taemin and Jongin off to the Wall. But the castle feels _full_ and homely, just the coven as they have been for the longest time. 

Not that he would admit it. Taeyong somehow looks a little bare without the enormous lug of a soldier that has been his permanent shadow since this all began. And Donghyuck would certainly never wish to undo what has been done.

But as their last night as a family. It’s nice that the tables are empty of the soldiers. No Johnny, no Captain Jaehyun. No moody, bug-eyed lieutenant. 

And as much as he is woe to admit it, Hyuck finds some of the rope around his lungs starting to unravel as he lingers amongst his brothers. Perching forcefully in Jeno’s lap until the Witch Guard starts threading tiny braids through his hair. 

Stealing food off Taeil’s plate without asking. Enticing the scattering starlight out from under Yuta’s fingertips like a kitten with cream. 

But it doesn’t matter how long he waits, how long he distracts himself with anyone else in the room. 

Not when there is only one of his brothers he has been avoiding. 

Only one he has been waiting for. 

Because with Doyoung it’s one and the same. 

And with Yuta wrapped around Jungwoo, there is an empty seat next to that Hyuck finds himself marching towards before he can finish deciding just what he wants to say. Before he can pull together an excuse to keep his distance and let Doyoung disappear off to the City without a word of goodbye. 

And that simply wont do. 

And it doesn’t matter that his tongue is still tied when he sits himself down, because Doyoung can read him better than Hyuck thinks he’s comfortable with. 

Jaemin, after all, is the one with _that_ particular magical proclivity. 

But Hyuck isn’t stupid enough to forget that there is magic in more than just the obvious. There is more power in the Unseen than in anything the world could possibly give them the ability to control.

And the heart is one of them. Love. _Family._

Theirs who they have built piece by piece and now in one fell swoop almost half of them are leaving. He hates it. Hates it more than he is capable of holding.

“Come here,” Doyoung says, like a lighthouse in a storm, offering Donghyuck his arm, and he slips underneath it like he used to do unbidden when he was small. 

The feeling that settles in him is old and familiar and Hyuck sets his tongue against his teeth with the urge to bite against it. To rail against how fragile it feels to be exposed, if only to himself.

Because Doyoung will never let the world see if Hyuck doesn’t want them to. 

“I thought you were going to ignore me until after I get back,” Doyoung says after a moment of quiet between them, like he’s waiting for Hyuck to carry whatever this is. 

And he should. Doyoung’s right, after all - this grudge that he’s been fuelling since he heard the news has been unnecessary. But Hyuck isn’t ignorant to his misgivings. It’s why Jaemin and Renjun found him _jinshil_. Conspiring amongst themselves in search of something that would make him happy and busy. But instead of putting effort into loving those who are leaving he’s spent the last two days sulking. Hiding in the gardens and asking the same question Jaemin had asked of his Deck. A question they never bothered to check was answered. 

_There is always more danger in Knowing the future than staying Blind,_ Doyoung had told him once. But without the whispers of the Sun, without the possibility under his fingertips, Donghyuck feels powerless. 

And that is something he cannot abide by. The future is all he has. All he can offer. And even in this he was blind. 

Doyoung and Yuta, leaving for the City right alongside Jaemin and Taeyong and Jeno and.

Even Johnny. 

“I was going to,” he says and Doyoung snorts, fingers tangling in Donghyuck’s curls.

“I’m glad you set your grudge aside, Hyuckie,” he says with a familiar sort of exasperation that surprisingly helps. 

“I knew Taeyongie was going, but why you? You _and_ Yuta-hyung? Who’s going to make sure I don’t do anything stupid?” Donghyuck goads, and with the way Doyoung rolls his eyes he knows he’s not really getting past the elder Witch. 

Not that he’d really expect to. 

Out of everyone, Doyoung knows best just how much this place means. 

The Witch of Hearth and Home. 

“I’m sure you can keep yourself marginally entertained with Renjun and Chenle. And if it’s particularly boring you need only look Jungwoo’s way. Chaos will surely follow well enough to see me to my grey hairs.” 

“I don’t like it,” Donghyuck declares and Doyoung pulls him close, pulling him awkwardly up into his lap, and for a moment, with Doyoung’s warm arms wrapped tight around his waist, Donghyuck feels young and weightless again. 

“We are victims of circumstance at the moment I think, duckling. You more than anyone would know how close we walk towards the edge of a Reckoning. But have faith, we will be whole again soon.” 

And Donghyuck feels the way the fire ripples around the candles nearby, and while the sun has long set, Doyoung’s fire gives him at least a herald of faith. Doyoung’s power is forthright, and there is magic in promise. 

Donghyuck will take it for all he can. 

Mercy-be, what a mess this boy has made of him. 

A giddy, smiling soldier; his and then gone too quickly to leave anything behind but a glimmer of what can be and what he is capable of losing. 

And now, one by one. His family are slipping out of grasp. 

Fucking mercy. 

“Come now, baby duck,” Doyoung murmurs, voice gentle and it's only then that Hyuck realises how close he is to crying. 

“I won't miss you,” he says, mulish and lying through his teeth, tucking his head into the crook of Doyoung’s shoulder, and he can feel rather than see the way the elder witch smiles. 

“I know.” 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

Dawn arrives far too early. 

Jaehyun barely has a full hours sleep under his belt when he’s jolted awake by a loud, rattling knock against the door to his chambers. 

And so it is with bleary eyes and sluggish limbs that Jaehyun pries the door open to the bemused grin of a bright-eyed Mark. 

The young lieutenant looks far more put together than Jaehyun feels and in the brief moment before Mark can even say anything he’s tempted to slam the door in his face and go back to sleep.

But the world moves faster than Jaehyun is ready for this morning

“You look like shit,” Mark says, slipping inside before Jaehyun can make up his mind and so he grunts in reply as he lets the door swing shut in defeat. It’s lucky that he never even removed his shirt when he pulled himself up off the floor after throwing up, so he has at least a little dignity. Or not, rather. 

Mark settles down on the end of his bed and peers at him with too-knowing eyes and Jaehyun has to resist the urge to throw something at the kid or vomit again. 

He hasn’t made up his mind yet which one he wants more. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Mark asks carefully and Jaehyun snorts. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see through what he did last night. 

Johnny is leaving, and Jaehyun is probably still drunk because it’s the only way he could figure out how to get his brain to stop working. He hates how it feels, being so… lovesick or heartbroken or whatever this is. Johnny has always been beyond Jaehyun’s reach, only now it’s certified. Only now it’s about to be literal and well as figurative. 

Johnny has bound with his witch, and he is happy, and he is _leaving_. 

The Witch is going to the Black City, and so Johnny is going with him.

And Jaehyun is staying. 

There is no reason for him to follow. No excuse of loyalty or friendship with enough value to give him an invitation. Not this time.

And he hates it. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters as he stumbles past Mark and slumps over his waterbasin. It needs refilling from the day before, but he honestly can’t be bothered and so just dunks his head under the surface and scrubs. It cold, but nothing that he’s not used to. 

Compared to mornings he’s seen on the Wall a little chill is nothing. And it wakes him up, which he’s grateful for. 

Standing back up he pulls his shirt off and dries the excess water off his face before tossing the sodden bundle straight at Mark. 

The kid barks a laugh that Jaehyun ignores as he slips on his overcoat and starts buttoning it up. 

He really only needs to look presentable enough for the next hour and then he can come back and drown himself if he wants. More beer or the washbasin again he’s not sure either. He’ll pick later. 

“I can tell Johnny-hyung I couldn’t find you?” Mark asks tentatively, and Jaehyun hates how perceptive the little shit is. He hides it well; he’s earnest and good-hearted and kind of a dork. Its easy to relax around Mark Lee, and easier still to forget he’s smarter than he looks. 

“Should’ve said that before I shoved my head in the water,” he says, half-heartedly, pushing his wet hair back off his forehead so he looks a little more put together. 

Mark doesn’t say anything and so it’s up to Jaehyun to lead the way over to the door and swing it open.

“Coming?” he calls back and is only a few steps out the door before Mark jogs to catch up, leaving Jaehyun a little in front so that he leads their way outside where the Witches caravan is waiting. 

Which normally wouldn’t be a bother considering that Mark is always at Jaehyun’s back. That’s his place in all this. Johnny relies on Jaehyun and Kun, and they rely on Mark. It would normally be comforting, Jaehyun thinks, except he can feel the worried glances burning against his back every few moments and honestly it’s pissing him off a bit.

Its not like he’s unaware he’s a mess and _looks it._

In fact, his mouth still tastes like stale beer and he feels sort of gross around the edges, like there could be mud clogging the seams of his clothes and sweat stiffening the layers of his socks and underclothes. 

  
Its an old feeling, and sort of familiar, weathered in years on the Wall and one he thought long past him. 

He hasn’t been a scrap of muscle and bone struggling to survive in the lowlands of the Scrums for years. _Years._

But the memories will never leave him. They’re an impossibility to forget; those long months where it was almost a struggle to breathe around the fear ballooned in his chest. 

But Johnny had changed that. Johnny had turned that fear and injustice not against the infected, the attackers who had been turned into a ceaseless enemy, but instead on the soldiers who had forgotten what it was like to be afraid. 

Jaehyun had decided far too long ago that he was going to dedicate his life to Johnny Seo. And for five years that hasn’t changed. 

Johnny has proven himself just as good-hearted as he had appeared breaking up squabbling fights over rations of tasteless huinjuk. Surrendering his own meal to the shaking boys whose bones shone through their clothes like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. 

That had been the first time Jaehyun had truly _seen_ the ruin festering inside their own ranks. Seen past his own fear at being conscripted, his own irritation with the luxuries of his past life stripped away from him one by one. His own rage at the seeming impossibility of escaping his own death. 

Johnny’s good heart had lead him to stand up for all of them, to fight when no one had the energy left. He had borne the brunt of their own Captain’s frustrations, their Commander’s ignorance and not once backed down. 

Jaehyun had seen it all, been the one to thread the needles when Johnny’s hands shook too much, to sew him back together when Johnny couldn’t reach to do it himself. Jaehyun had seen Johnny carry far more than he should long before he had stepped up to take the place of their dead Captain so that those left would not join the dead already littering the mud strewn field. 

Jaehyun has been there for it all. 

He had even followed him back here, to White Stone. To Taeyong. 

But Jaehyun cant follow any further. 

Johnny will be going to the Black City and Jaehyun will be staying behind. 

And he is still trying to come to terms with that. 

It is a realisation he does _not_ appreciate. 

The dawn light is still barely cracking the horizon as Jaehyun finally stumbles outside. The air is crisp and too cold for the day-old clothes he’s wearing, but it’s brisk and he tries to use it to shake some of the cobwebs from the back of his head and the sour taste in his mouth. 

It doesn’t work. 

Not when one of the first things he sees is Johnny looming large and beautiful as he helps lift the large wooden trunks being loaded into the underside of the witches carriage. 

There is still a lethargy to the entire scene that Jaehyun can feel weigh his own limbs down. But its still enough to burn a little. Because there is a gentle smile on Johnny’s face as his Witch lingers close by. 

Taeyong looks small and slight wrapped in gentle layers of storm grey as he stands close to Johnny, being completely unhelpful. Meanwhile the Fire Witch at the very least seems to be a whirlwind of movement and sound between the lurking shadows of the younger Witchlings. 

Mark doesn’t have the same reservations weighing him down and so he bounds across the distance between them to help their Commander. 

Jaehyun lingers, watching quietly with a lump in his throat as he tries to patch together how worn out he feels with a determination to pull himself together. Its a contradictory feeling and one he abhors. 

“You look like you should have taken me up on my offer last night,” a familiar voice purrs and Jaehyun can’t help but smile as he glances behind him where Jungwoo has slunk up on him like a cat.

Jungwoo definitely looks far more put together than Jaehyun. 

As well he should, the soldier thinks, remembering that for the Witches of White Stone, the day always begins before the first wisp of light catches the horizon. 

That and Jungwoo’s powers are usually fuelled _by_ terrible life choices, not punished for them. Jaehyun feels like shit, and Jungwoo’s smug little smile at it should be more of an annoyance. 

But it’s not. 

As with increasing awareness lately, Jaehyun cannot help but find the Witch of Abundance incredibly intriguing. 

“I had enough trouble indulging in one thing, I don’t think I would have survived if I’d indulged in you as well,” Jaehyun teases and is rewarded by a bark of surprised laughter from the Witch. 

“I promise you’ll always leave me intact, Captain,” Jungwoo grins. “Though I do ever so enjoy seeing you try.”

And that is where Jungwoo leaves him, throwing back a cheeky smile as he wanders forward to take up the Witch of the Stars in his arms and squeeze. Delighted by the sheer cackle that he gets in return. 

Jaehyun winces at the noise and folds his arms over his chest in an attempt to push back the cold seeping into his bones.

He should have put on at least another layer. It’s too early to be out and the autumn chill has plenty of bite. 

Not that he’ll have to wait much longer. The last of the chests disappears into the back of the carriage and the two Witch Guard are left to shake it off while the Witches continue to talk amongst themselves.

The Sun is slowly crawling over the horizon, lighting up the roads and Jaehyun knows there isn’t much time left. Thankfully Johnny notices him before Jaehyun has to do anything more than just _stand there._

His brain still feels like its stuffed with wool and his mouth tastes like ass. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to have to linger amongst the witches who glitter in the early morning sun. Whose power leaks from their bones.

He doesn’t want to have to look Taeyong in the eye and pretend he’s happy for them. Not right now. 

But Johnny doesn’t force his hand, crossing the space between Jaehyun and the family he doesn’t belong to. 

And the first thing he does is laugh, a deep, throaty chuckle that makes Jaehyun’s heart sing. 

“You look like shit,” Johnny chides, sliding his arm around Jaehyun’s shoulder and he groans.

“I’ve heard,” he sneers and that just makes Johnny laugh again.

“You did this entirely to yourself,” he says and Jaehyun wants to beat him.

“Dont remind me,” he replies and Johnny laughs again.

“Well at least you know where you can play dice while I’m not here to remind you you’ll go broke.”

“What ever will I do without you?” Jaehyun says, sarcasm biting against his teeth. But instead of biting back Johnny’s tone is gentle as he casts him a glance before his attention once again drifts towards the group of Witches. Where Heechul and Prince Leeteuk are talking with the Storm Witch and his brethren. 

“I was going to ask last night but never got the chance,” Johnny says, careful and curious. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” 

Jaehyun snorts. He’s _trying_ to be subtle, but there truly isn’t anything subtle at all about the glaring white overcoat Johnny is wearing right now. The future Johnny has taken for himself. One that leaves Jaehyun without one. Or rather, a future with a decision to make. 

It _is_ a fair question. 

One that Jaehyun has already spent weeks thinking about. 

While Johnny’s future had always been reliant on what happened with Taeyong, Jaehyun’s own has been an open question since they had been called back from the Wall in the first place. 

Technically his conscription had ended the same time Johnny’s did. Earlier, even. It’s been three years since then, and Jaehyun has never had any intention of leaving the army. But with _Johnny_ leaving, Jaehyun’s place isn’t quite so stable as it had once been. 

Kun had at least offered it to him, his old position. The Commander’s Right Hand Man. Told him that if he wanted it then nothing would change. But it _would_ , change was inevitable and sweeping; a cascading effect impossible to avoid. Especially in a change of leadership like Command over a section of the Wall.

And with things so tenuous, with the Mistborn a rising threat again, leaving that behind may well be his only chance to live. 

And it’s not like he has no opportunities left to him beyond his life as a solider. 

He had been a Witch Guard once. Or training to be. He had worn the same white overcoat Johnny is wearing now, and he could wear it again. 

It is not the same vigilant threat as the Wall, but it offers a similar sort of duty, a demand of his faculties that he loves. 

He could fight, he could protect, just as he had before, and he could have a future. A life. 

That is not something the world could promise him if he returns to the Wall. It is not something he could promise himself. 

But without a Witch of his own, without a Taeyong to his Johnny, the life of a Witch Guard is a lonely one. 

He would be a protector, yes, but a staunch one. A shadow or a ghost in the corner of the room. 

That is one of the reasons it had been so easy to leave that life once before. It had been an empty promise, to protect empty halls instead of people. 

Except now there is Johnny. Johnny who would walk those same halls. There is Taeyong, who is Johnny’s and Jaehyun would care for as if he was his own.

And there is Jungwoo. 

Jungwoo in all his glory, all his power. 

He is a ghost all Jaehyun’s own, something tangible that only seems to exist just outside Jaehyun’s fingertips and it has been driving him _mad_. 

Jungwoo, whose guise is wide, and smile is small. 

Jungwoo who tastes like pomegranates and promise. 

“No, I don’t,” Jaehyun says, answering Johnny with more of a smile than his question is worth. Johnny’s brow furrows and he quietly bends the little knife between his fingers in distraction, letting it twirl between his knuckles. 

“I almost thought I’d see you march back with Kun,” Johnny admits quietly, and that surprises him. Because Jaehyun’s loyalty is always to the Kingdom, to its people. But it has also always belonged to Johnny. 

“I told you I’d stay until you made your decision.”

“I did, and you had enough time to go back with them.”

“Technically I still do,” he chides, slumping back against the wall.

“Are you going to?”

“Not yet, no.”

That makes Johnny’s face light up and the tension inside Jaehyun’s chest seems to relax, just a little. Because Johnny is like a homing beacon. He has been Jaehyun’s northern star for almost five years. Despite his own issues, that beyond anything else is at least a comfort. Has always been. 

“Well, if you change your mind, take Mark with you. I think he’s finding it harder now that the kids have left.” 

“Johnny!” a familiar voice calls just as Jaehyun is about to answer and while Jaehyun doesn’t recognise the Witch by ear. Johnny definitely does. The big lug turning instinctively towards the carriage, flashing his Witch a smile that makes an old jealousy burn up the back of Jaehyun’s throat. 

A feeling that sidesteps into something more protective at the dark look the Fire Witch, Doyoung, sends Johnny the moment his back is turned again. 

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?” Jaehyun asks, staring over Johnny’s shoulder at the pack of wolves. The Witch of the Stars is lurking much the same as Doyoung is, and Jaehyun doesn’t entirely trust Johnny’s blind optimism. 

They are just as protective of Taeyong as Jaehyun is of his own Commander, and there is already blood in the water.

Johnny huffs a laugh. 

“I’m sure,” he says with that familiar smile and Jaehyun’s stomach churns. 

“You’re gonna need someone to watch your back,” he urges and the look Johnny sends him is resolute. And far too kind. 

“And that job has always been yours, Jae. But I need you here. Someone needs to make sure Mark doesn’t end up drawn and quartered.” 

“Oh good, relegated to babysitting a moody lieutenant who refuses to talk,” he scowls, shooting Mark a glance where the young soldier is standing awkwardly next to Jeno and trying not to glower at Donghyuck. 

“Would you rather keep babysitting me? I thought you’d appreciate the break,” Johnny replies, cheerfully and Jaehyun has to hold back the knowledge that he would babysit him happily until the day he dies. 

“I would, if you weren’t literally sitting in the middle of a pack of wolves ready to tear you to pieces. If you make it to the Black City unscathed Ill count _that_ as the miracle,” he replies ruefully. 

Johnny looks behind him, following Jaehyun’s line of sight and instead of the calculating glare that would have at least let Jaehyun _start_ to relax, Johnny just smiles again. 

“You don’t need to worry, Jae. I promise. If anything I’m leaving the dangerous ones here with you,” he says, smiling over at Mark and his retinue of qasi-friends and or enemies. 

“Keep Mark alive for me,” Johnny says, bringing Jaehyun into a hug before he can collect himself or his thoughts. 

“And I’ll be back before you know it.”

And then before Jaehyun is ready Johnny lets go, stepping back with that heart aching half-smile before loping back over towards the carriage where Taeyong is lingering in the doorway, half distracted. 

Something in Jaehyun burns at the gentle fondness on Johnny’s face as Taeyong smiles up at him. His jealousy churning in his gut as Johnny tucks Taeyong’s hair behind one ear and almost herds the small Witch fully into the carriage. 

Johnny lingers, though, hanging in the doorway to flash Jaehyun one last smile. 

And somehow that hurts the most. 

And still Jaehyun watches as the rest of the Witches all start climbing into the carriage, only for Jaemin to immediately hang almost completely out the window to pout over at the congregation of younger witches and start happily blowing them kisses once they deign to give him a half hearted wave. 

Jaehyun is not alone in this farewell. 

It almost seems as if half of White Stone is on the move to the Black City, and so the rest of the Witches circle are all out in favour of bidding them farewell.

And so Jaehyun lets himself get caught up in the swell of half-hearted shouting as even Heechul starts yelling his goodbyes to the absolute delight of Jaemin and Yuta lingering in the windows. 

But Jaehyun cannot see Johnny anymore and so he lets himself sink back towards the barracks where things make sense and he can at least pretend that he doesn’t feel more lost than he has ever felt in his life. 

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family awaits in the Black City, but also more than Jaemin and Jeno can be prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for your patience with this chapter. This one has been the hardest to get through out of the entire fic. I hope you enjoy our first foray into the Black City!

Jaemin can’t move.

There is something heavy pressing him down. Something hot and large and there is hair tickling along his jawline and a hot puff of hair as someone breathes into his neck.

It’s a familiar feeling, a memory he hasn’t allowed to rise to the surface for a very, very long time.

Except it’s not… quite _right_.

It feels less like the memories Jaemin has buried deeper than they had once been.

There is dirt in his nostrils, not ash. There is stone under his spine not wood and the grip on his hand is warm – almost hot.

_Jaemin. Jaemin-ah, wake up._

Something jolts him, hard, and he sits bolt upright. There is a flare of magic running down his forearms and he catches the wisps of it between clenched fists as he blinks the disorientation from his eyes and finds only Jeno tucked firmly into his side, breathing deep in sleep and Doyoung and peering at him. So he flashes his hyung a sorry smile.

“Bad dream?” Doyoung asks, and Jaemin makes a face as he reaches up and gently brushes his fingers over Jeno like a touchstone.

“Just weird,” he replies and doesn’t expect Doyoung to bark a little laugh.

“Must be going around lately,” he says and Jaemin doesn’t quite understand but he nods along, prying up the little curtain to glance through the carriage window and finds himself tasting something sour in the back of his throat as he catches sight of their impending goal.

The Black City has been a shadow on the horizon for the last two days. But now she is a looming threat. They’re close. Barely a few hours away at best. The ominous towers aren’t just a shadow anymore. They’re distinct. He can see the individual buildings that circle inwards around the central castle. The entire landscape lorded over by the impressive Onyx Spire at the very heart of it all.

“You two have never been out here before, have you?” Doyoung asks softly from where he’s sitting on the other side of the carriage, wedged between a sleeping Yuta and the wall. When Jaemin glances over, he finds Doyoung looking at Yuta fondly. He has one hand gently resting along the curve of Yuta’s neck, toying with the long strands of the Witch’s still bright red hair and while Doyoung looks tired, what strikes Jaemin most is that he feels _peaceful_ and that more than anything calms himself, calms his magic like smoke settling a beehive gently to sleep.

“No. We haven’t really left White Stone before,” Jaemin admits, peering out the window again and feeling a little forlorn.

It’s not that neither of them haven’t travelled.

Doyoung knows that better than anyone.

But since he and Jeno had arrived at White Stone they haven’t had much reason to leave.

It really hasn’t occurred to him how small their world has been until right now.

He’s walked the surrounding prefectures, sure. But never any further than a half days ride. Always making sure they have enough time to turn back before dusk.

He’s never been called to the Black City before, or even tasked with travelling the city roads, moving between village to village helping where needed like so many of the other Witches do.

It’s not even that he’s considered too young the way Chenle is.

Renjun has gone out with Yesung for years now, delivering his little spell pouches and helping teach the local hedge witches how to put them together to help ward off sickness during the colder months.

Jaemin has simply never had reason to join them. He’s been kept close to White Stone because of his and Jeno’s looming Binding. It has always been this inevitable thing. Treated with this impossible reverence that he has never entirely understood.

It is not this impossible thing, his and Jeno’s bond with each other. It simply _is._ It has _always been_.

Even before this life, before the infected Mistborn mercenaries came down on their village and he had been a farmers son with a farmers life waiting for him.

Even then there had been Jeno. Jaemin cannot remember a part of his life _without_ Jeno in it. And then, after their village had burned, Jeno was all he had.

There had never been a moment where they had imagined being apart. And that is something to be celebrated.

The feeling that Jaemin had used to save them had been important. It had been the first thread of magic he had felt in his life, and it turned out when that single thread was pulled, it unravelled a wall inside him that had nearly drowned him as it was swept away.

Doyoung had been the one to have helped him. Saved him from burning out, young and out of control.

But in that vibrantly important pocket of his life Jaemin really only remembers Jeno. His memories of that life-changing tragedy burned away by too much magic, too much power.

He only remembers Jeno pulling him out of the ashes. Jeno holding him tight. Remembers Jeno yelling and fighting the soldiers back. Protecting him from whatever threat he could perceive.

They have come a long way since then.

“Everyone okay?” Taeyong asks, poking his head up over the back of the middle chairs. His hair is decidedly mussed and he looks a little confused and cranky.

They all are, really. The days have been _long_ , and the carriage is comfortable enough for a short journey but its far too small for the six of them and Jaemin can’t wait to get out.

“Yeah,” he says, shooting Taeyong a smile and the Witch beams back at him, ducking away for a moment before popping back up a little higher to the sound of deep grumbling from Johnny.

“Catch!” he says, tossing a little square package wrapped in wax paper that is heavier than Jaemin first expected.

“ _Taeyong_ ,” Doyoung chides, brows pinched as he scolds the elder witch who giggles and ducks back down again as Jaemin pulls back the wax paper to discover a delectable little pocket of sugared peanuts.

“You are not eating those in here. You know how you get and I will have to murder you,” Doyoung threatens Jaemin, only to yowl in surprise when Taeyong pops back up to whack Doyoung over the back of his head.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. We’re almost at the outer curls and we’ll need to stop to change,” Taeyong threatens and the quiet dozing amongst the six of them shatters as they head towards the outer edge the city prefecture, heralded by the lazy bickering between the two witches and both Yuta and Johnny’s irritated whining.

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

Jeno can’t actually remember the last time he’s spent so much time confined to such a small space and with little more do do than read and nap or peer listlessly out the windows.

In fact, as interesting as it has been watching the world pass them by as they trundle along, Jeno feels like he has seen more rice fields in the last few hours than he has in his entire lifetime. And he’s not entirely sure if it was even a different set of fields or just the same one. Stretching on and on forever.

And so between fits of boredom he’s spent almost just as much time leaning on Jaemin’s shoulder and sleeping as he has even talking amongst the other travellers.

But its impossible to sleep as they start entering the outer edges of their destination and within an hour or so they’re even hedging on the outskirts of the city.

It’s then they make a brief stop to freshen up and stretch their limbs which makes the last little stretch far easier on them all.

Better still, the roads are smoother and the wheels don’t rattle quite as much, but the noise of the city itself more than makes up for the smoother ride.

The sound of people interspersed with the bleating of goats and squawking of birds is familiar and sort of soothing as Jeno tries to lean over Jaemin and peer out the window as they start meandering through the actual city.

It almost looks like home, with the rows of tiled roofs and interspersing stalls. People hawking their wares and shouting after children as they scatter between the carts and carriages lining the road.

But there is an edge of power in the air that reminds Jeno of the Witch Heart itself, and he’s not sure if it’s real or imagined. His runes don’t burn or itch like they sometimes can. But it feels… powerful here.

And maybe it’s just the way the buildings are all made of thick, dark stone, how they’re all edged in what looks like black glass along the awnings and doorways that glares in the sunshine.

The City itself isn’t _entirely_ black like the stories are wont to tell. That falls only to the looming castle at the city’s centre. But it is still impossible to forget where they are, and why it’s called the Black City.

It’s defiantly literal and Jeno feels kind of small under the weight of the city’s own ego.

Renjun’s annoyance with the place makes a lot more sense now.

It takes almost as long to reach the castle gates as it did winding their way through the outskirting farmland, and Jeno finds himself falling back the more excited Jaemin gets craning his head to see as much as he can out the carriage window.

They only stop for a moment before they’re waved through by guards dressed in brilliant white and instead of familiar city roads and shouting merchants their view is replaced with long stretching gardens that feel far too tamed to be comfortable.

It doesn’t help Jeno’s daunting anxiety in the slightest.

But it doesn’t take long then for the carriage to come to a stop.

The door is quickly swung open and Jeno shies away from the blinding light as Taeyong is the first to descend the steps, Johnny following immediately behind him.

Now that they’re here everyone seems to be in a rush to get out of the cramped carriage and Jeno cannot argue with that idea. But in doing so its also the beginning of everything they’re here for and _that_ he’s not quite as excited about.

Yuta takes a dramatic huff, cricking his neck and stretching his shoulders before he follows next, robes swirling around him as the wind picks them up. But instead of stepping all the way down and clearing the way, he stays right in the doorway, blocking them from view and Jeno glances over to see Doyoung peering at him, gaze heavy.

“Hyung?” he asks, feeling wary.

Doyoung flashes him a tired smile and Jeno feels that immediate unease dissolve. Because Doyoung looks pensive, but not worried and Jeno knows this is more for his piece of mind than their own.

“I know you find my worrying distasteful, but whatever happens next remember this: always keep your composure. The people here will test you because they can. Yuta and I will have your back. It is why we are here. For both of you. But we cannot guard your conversations, we cannot nanny you. And so, the most important thing you can do, is just keep your composure. Keep calm. If they cannot gauge your reaction, then they cannot win.”

Doyoung pauses for a moment before his gaze slips towards the door, where Yuta is still guarding their way.

“Not everyone will be able to help you here. This place is like a viper’s nest. You cannot always trust who you believe you can. Ten and Sicheng will not be able to help you. They have their own games at work here. You cannot allow yourself to be swept up in other people’s agendas. Jaemin, you especially. There will be time for it. This is not it. You’re going to be alluring. You’re young and powerful and your Binding ceremony only makes you more intriguing than anyone else here. Just. Be careful.”

“We will, hyung,” Jaemin says, and Jeno is surprised at Jaemin’s honesty. Playing games with those around him is one of Jaemin’s favourite things in the world. He is infinitely fascinated by the people around him – not only warning him off that but _expecting_ Jaemin to stay his curiosity is akin to asking him to stay his magic.

But there is an earnestness in Doyoung’s gaze that is impossible to ignore, and if there is anyone they owe their allegiance to, it is Doyoung.

If there is anyone Jaemin will honour because he is asked, it is the man who brought them home. Who has cared for them longer than anyone else living.

And so it is only when Doyoung nods that Jaemin steps forward and gives Yuta a gentle nudge. The Witch of the Stars steps aside and Jeno watches with a building apprehension as Jaemin steps out of the carriage and out into the sunshine of the Black City.

He cant help but glance back at Doyoung, whose expression is soft when he gives Jeno one final nod.

But it gives him more comfort than he would like to admit as he steps up to follow Jaemin.

The sky is bright and cloudless and Jeno feels positively exposed as he steps down the carriage steps and steps into place at Jaemin’s back and takes a long moment to absorb the world around them.

The carriage has been stopped at the crux of a circular courtyard at the base of the main castle proper. And while the castle at White Stone is separate from the city there is still a level of welcoming calm about it.

Perhaps it is just the colour of the stone or the impressive aura of the intricate carvings, or even the open, empty expanse between the castle and the wall separating them from the city itself, but this place is not inviting.

The courtyard is larger than any of the gardens in White Stone and yet the walls on every side are sharp slabs of stone and Jeno feels particularly uneasy as they spear upwards into the sky like knives.

The gardens are almost painfully manicured, the hedges neat and square and the flower beds clean and cultured. There is none of the wild sort of beauty that every little garden at White Stone has; in fact most of the garden beds seem empty by comparison. Large empty spreads of dirt around lonely looking plants stripped of their wild beauty.

But it is not all gloom.

Even Jeno is unable to ignore the immediate joy when he notices the familiar faces waiting for them.

Like any formal greeting at White Stone there is a small contingent waiting for them. The party isn’t large, six at most, but even amongst the retinue, Ten and Sicheng stand out.

They’re held a little back from the front, and while Sicheng looks a little reserved, Jeno can see Ten’s face positively light up as they spot them. It doesn’t take a bond to know that Jaemin is almost buzzing with a giddy excitement at seeing two of their coven again.

Its been months since Ten and Sicheng left White Stone, and it has felt far emptier without them.

Its not uncommon for Witches who grew up in the safety of White Stone to find their places elsewhere.

Jeno has always known its a possibility.

Jongin had grown up amongst almost seven other Witches and yet he is the one who spends the most time in the Heart, even if he spends more of his time between here in the City and the Wall with each growing year.

In fact even the most important figure waiting to greet them all to the Black City had left the safety of White Stone for other pastures.

And while Jeno has never met the Witch King before, he _has_ seen him, and he has heard countless, countless tales.

Unlike Queen Boa, who rarely ventures outside the Black City, Yunho is a wanderer at heart, or so Heechul has always liked to say.

It’s common knowledge that Yunho had been a Witch of White Stone before even Leeteuk or Heechul had found their place there, and instead of staying put, he had found great joy in wandering the long roads of their collective Kingdoms.

He had been instrumental in building up the Witches trust in the villages and prefectures after the worst of the fighting nearly twenty five years ago, bringing his lessons and his spells to places who needed them.

And when he found Witches who needed aid, he gave that too. Even if it meant bringing them back home to White Stone.

Yuta had been one of them, just like Doyoung had been the one to bring Jaemin and Jeno back years and years later.

Its been a while since Jeno has seen the King, however, and the travel-roughened look is very different even on a King to that of the resplendent man waiting for them.

And now Jeno isn’t hiding in the archery nooks with Hyuck and Renjun and Jaemin, all of them trying to stay out of sight because they weren’t supposed to be there.

This time Jeno isn’t hiding amongst rebellious Witchlings.

Instead he is walking two steps behind Jaemin and the King’s eyes fall on them directly.

The King is here, in part, _for_ them.

There will be no hiding, not from this.

“Taeyong-ah,” King Yunho says, smiling warmly as he greets Taeyong at the head of their party.

There is an easy familiarity between their Witch Prince that makes Jeno feel a little more comfortable but its not much. Not against this.

Instead he stands back and watches as the King greets Johnny next, not quite with the same warmth as his Witch, but with a familiarity that Jeno didn’t really expect between a Wall-side Commander and the King.

Their conversation only lasts a moment fore the King turns his attention to Doyoung and then finally to Yuta, with a fondness that mellows out against all the others.

Yuta smiles too, giddy and bright and its nice, seeing Yuta so happy in the face of a City he has never stopped bitching about.

Jeno never would have expected to see Yuta here and he knows it’s entirely come down to Doyoung that their Witch of the Stars has ventured into the Snake Pit.

Or so he has bemoaned before.

But there is familiarity here, and despite standing in the shadow of the Witch King, Jeno finds himself smiling at the fierce hold Ten has around Taeyong just a few metres further back.

But in his own eagerness to join his older brothers, Jeno has forgotten that the only ones left for the King to greet after Yuta is Jaemin.

And by extension, Jeno.

“Your Majesty,” Jaemin says, with his signature smile, signature confidence, signature cheer. It’s only as he bows in formal greeting that Jeno realises his mistake and moves in sync. Doing his best to follow Doyoung’s advice and keep his composure, keep his expressions calm and clear.

He’s not sure how successful he is, but there is a glimmer of cheerfulness in the Witch King’s gaze as they stand tall again.

“My, how you boys have grown,” King Yunho says, with a smile. “I’ve anticipated this event for many years and it’s finally upon us. Two precious children of White Stone. Binding again.”

He stands upright, square and proud and far taller than Jeno remembers him being and just sort of takes them both in.

“What a joyous moment for all of us. But there will be time for that later tonight at your Welcoming ceremony. I know you must be tired and hungry. Come, my boys; let me welcome you to the core of the Black City,” he says then, stepping back to let Jaemin lead the way up the path where Yuta has Sicheng locked firmly between his arms and Ten still has a far gentler hug around Taeyong.

“Jaeminnie!” Ten crows gleefully and Jeno laughs, surprised by the sudden glee as Jaemin makes a run for it and joins in the hug.

“You had him for nearly three days in the back of that cramped ugly carriage Taeyong, back off, let me have my baby to myself!” Ten bemoans as Taeyong refuses to let go.

It’s a happy picture and Jeno laughs as Sicheng uses a spark of ice down the back of Yuta’s shirt to make the Witch put him down with a shriek.

“Come here, Jeno!” Sicheng says with a brilliant smile of victory and Jeno happily falls into his hyung’s arms.

“Aish, stop growing,” Sicheng grumbles, squeezing him tight, and Jeno laughs.

“No promises,” he replies and Sicheng hums, peering over Jeno’s head at the tumbling multi-hug that’s been joined by Yuta and a despairing Doyoung.

“Come on, pup,” Sicheng grins wickedly and Jeno can’t help but follow suit, letting Sicheng frog march them over to add to the hug, squeezing Doyoung tighter towards the middle with a distraught cry.

It’s the best feeling in the world.

Having their missing two brothers back in their arms again. A glimpse of home in a city far away from the Heart they’ve all shared.

And not one of them notices the quiet exit of the smiling King.

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

When Ten and Sicheng finally lead them beyond the first grand gates into the entrance of the castle itself, there is a small entourage of castle staff waiting for them.

“The Black City welcomes your safe return Prince Taeyong,” an elderly man says, with a resolute sort of bow. Behind him are five other staff members in a pristine grey uniform, all wearing blank expressions of what is no doubt meant to be respect.

Frankly, Johnny finds it a little disarming, and he can feel the unease from Taeyong across their bond.

“And we must of course congratulate you on the news of your Binding. It brings us such joy to see you united with Commander Seo,” the Quartermaster says, glibly, turning his watery eyed stare towards Johnny. Taeyong stares the old man down as he feels the complement slide off him like water down feathers.

Johnny doesn’t need to have powers to feel the insincerity and he has always been immune to such empty words.

It takes a great deal to survive here, regardless of their station.

“My thanks, Quartermaster,” Taeyong replies stiffly, without any sincerity of his own, and Johnny has to fight not to laugh at the irritation he feels through the bond from Taeyong.

It is only then, once the Quartermaster has absorbed his own praise that his attention finally slides towards the rest of their party.

“The Court is greatly looking forward to celebrating your arrival tonight, and of course of the impending Binding of our dear young Witch.”

Jaemin squares his shoulders when the Quartermaster looks their way, but Johnny spent his childhood watching Taeyong learn to lie in much the same way and so he doesn’t quite believe it for the preening it appears to be.

“The festivities shall truly be a testament to our joy at this important visit,” the Quartermaster drones on again.

“Then I’m sure theywould like to rest, correct?” Teninterruptswith a sharp sort of glee that even Johnny can feel sting and the poor old man stutters into surprised silence.

“Of course, of course. My apologies, Magister,” the Quartermaster says with another bow.

“Courin, if you would guide Prince Taeyong and Commander Seo to their quarters?” the man says, summoning the first of the six staff forward.

One by one they are assigned a member of staff who bows low and offers to lead them forward.

Ten and Sicheng bid farewell for the time being and Johnny watches idly as the two Witches disappear into the corridors. Only to be distracted by Doyoung’s quiet murmur of dissent about being pulled away from Jaemin and Jeno.

It’s nearly twice as hard not to laugh at Doyoung’s instant relief when he realises they are all being lead in the same direction anyway.

In fact, they are all guided to private residence hall that separates into six large suites, and even for Johnny it is a comfort knowing that they are all so close at hand.

While this was not the first time Johnny has spent time in the Black City, he has never stayed long.

He always spent more time on the road than he ever did inside the actual City and while the time he did spend was in absolute comfort, it was never comparable to this.

Taeyong’s apartments are enormous, bigger again than even his rooms in White Stone. The bed taking central focus at the southernmost end, and a tiered altar at the other, with Taeyong’s books already unpacked and resting on the shelves either side. His locked chest full of totems and artefacts are sitting untouched in the centre of the desk, and a mixed collection of spell ingredients and potion bottles all line up neatly, ready to be used.

The walls are painted with creeping white blossoms that seem to flutter under the afternoon light streaming in through the two glass doors on the far side of the room, left open. When Johnny steps out onto a large balcony he finds himself peering down into a private garden and the a sweeping view of the city far below them.

It is, as far as rooms go, fairly simple in arrangement but the level of opulence is more than Johnny is quite prepared for. Especially since it has already been partially personalised by Taeyong’s trinkets and books.

It takes him a moment, as he wanders back into the rooms, before Johnny realises that he too is already present here. His armour resting upon an armour stand and his sword and bow both polished and set in place below it.

The knot of feelings in the back of Johnny’s head seems to prickle, and when he turns quickly towards his Witch, he finds Taeyong sitting on the edge of the bed looking at him with a fond little smile. The corners of his lips curving around a gentle laugh that makes Johnny feel a little exposed.

He hadn’t realised Taeyong had been watching him so intently and he feels himself blush as he fumbles, feeling almost gangly and too small for the size of his limbs again, like had been as an early teenager.

Taeyong’s smile grows and so does that feeling in the back of Johnny’s head. And it’s impossible not to revel in it. To embrace that happiness that _he_ has caused, that Taeyong feels _for him._

It expands inside him, filling him up with it and he just can’t help but smile back.

“What?” he asks, and Taeyong just smiles, eyes crinkling small and cute.

“It still feels like a fever dream, seeing you wander about like this,” Taeyong admits, and the giddy joy along their bond wavers and then settles.

“A good dream?” he teases.

Taeyong’s smile is fond and his eyes glimmer.

“A very good dream.”

It’s impossible to walk away then, and Johnny crosses the space between them like’s he’s being pulled by some invisible red string. Coming to a stop between Taeyong’s legs the Witch peers up at him through thick black lashes, lips caught between his teeth and without thinking Johnny gently tips the Witch’s head back, thumb brushing softly against the underside of Taeyong’s jaw where he can feel the quick-start flutter of his pulse.

“I promise you’re awake,” he says, voice thick.

The air seems to vibrate between them, a flutter of afternoon light and Johnny feels a familiar swell of awe at the way Taeyong surrenders to him. The way he leans into his touch, even where he is his most vulnerable.

And, as if he knows, as if he understands, Taeyong leans into it, pressing his entire body towards Johnny and the thick fingers he has over Taeyong’s throat.

“Prove it,” Taeyong says, eyes bright and grin sharp like a challenge as he falls backwards and Johnny only just catches himself as Taeyong grasps onto the front of his shirt and pulls him down with him. They’re a tangle of limbs for a second as Johnny finds his balance, one knee pressed deep into the mattress between Taeyong’s legs and his arms braced firmly over Taeyong’s head.

This close he feels like he’s being swallowed by Taeyong’s magnetic pull. He’s practically drowning in Taeyong’s storm-grey eyes, his pupils blown wide as he stares up at Johnny like there’s nothing else in the world. Johnny feels electrified by even the gentlest brush of his fingers as Taeyong runs his thumb over Johnny’s bottom lip. And so Johnny takes Taeyong’s finger into his mouth, sucking firm and wet, with just enough teeth that he can see Taeyong’s eyes darken with want.

Lip curling in satisfaction Johnny braces himself firmly over Taeyong, his knee pressing up where he can feel Taeyong growing hard.

“If you don’t kiss me, Commander, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Taeyong challenges.

And who is Johnny to deny his Witch?

Taeyong’s mouth tastes like sugar and Johnny feels Taeyong tilt his head back for better leverage as he kisses him breathless.

It’s been a long and frustrating few days, stuck in the back of a carriage with not only two boys Johnny has known as _children_ but also Doyoung and Yuta sitting just behind them.

And while they have found themselves in a hundred different states since their binding, Johnny’s favourite remains like this. Kissing Taeyong until he’s trembling, feeling his body react to every one of Johnny’s movements. Feeling him lean in, heavy and warm, into Johnny’s touch.

It has lit something in him that feels everlasting and powerful, but never more-so than when their bodies are entwined.

And they have so much time to make up for, so much lost space to cover and three days in the back of a cramped, moving carriage has been hellish. All Johnny has wanted is to kiss him, put his hands on him, and has been forced to remain as tempered as he possibly can.

Holding him had to be enough, stringing their fingers together had to be enough. Easy, harmless kisses had to be enough, because there was a time and a place and that had not been it.

Now, all Johnny wants is to taste Taeyong on the back of his tongue, wants to bury himself in him until he feels Taeyong cry out. He wants to _ruin_ him -

And then something _meows_ and Johnny blinks. Not sure if he just hallucinated it or if Taeyong had something he needed to say but Johnny only gets a moment of confusion before a definitely real looking cat hops up onto the bed just above Taeyong’s head.

A fat looking white and grey mottled stray stepping muddy footprints over imperial silk and it only takes a beat for Johnny’s dick brain to recognise her.

“Tongtong!” he crows pushing himself upright. He isn’t sure if she’s bigger than he remembers or whether it’s just time that is skewing his memories. But Hutong is adorable regardless, with her white and grey fur splattered dark with dirt as if she has been wedging herself in places she shouldn’t be again.

Taeyong makes a strangled sound, throwing his arm over his face as Johnny pulls himself upright and offers his hand out to the cat.

But his bubble of distracted excitement pops when the cat sniffs his fingers and makes an almost-familiar disgusted face before skittering her way far out of his reach at the head of the bed, staring unblinkingly at them.

Johnny didn’t think he’d feel this way over a cat, but he feels almost heartsore seeing her, the little cat stepping out of memories he has looked over more times than he would care to count and yet they feel like fresh wounds now. Face to face with a creature he had forgot he missed almost as much as her human.

He should be angrier considering they just got cockblocked by Ten’s little familiar. But.

While Ten had only given him enough acknowledgement to burn a hole in his skull, Hutong is fixated, eyes narrow as she watches him, gaze unblinking.

“I’m going to kill them,” Taeyong groans and Johnny huffs a laugh.

Because yeah. Taeyong had warned him that Ten might not be quite so welcoming. But sending the little hellion of their familiar into their rooms to cockblock them is a little uncalled for. Johnny isn’t shy. He’s spent five years in a soldiers camp.

He’s walked in on too many couples getting handsy to bother being too embarrassed.

But he’s not about to go having sex with Taeyong while Ten judges them and that may as well be what they’re doing. Hutong might be a cat. Or she used to be.

These days she’s just as much an extension of Ten than she is an actual animal.

“You know when you said they were mad at me I sort of expected to get stabbed or something,” Johnny admits, slumping over Taeyong and onto his back.

“Don’t get too excited, I haven’t managed to talk them down yet,” Taeyong grits and Johnny laughs, pulling him close.

“Guess we’ll see how this party goes, huh,” he says as Taeyong shuffles in and curls up on Johnny’s chest with a pout, horny and mad.

“Guess we’ll see,” he agrees.

  
  


⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

Jeno remembers far less of his childhood than he would ever like to admit.

Even to Jaemin.

Memories bury easy under the weight of traumatic events, or so Heechul always used to say.

But while Jeno struggles to remember little more than the sound of his mother’s voice and a familiar crescent smile, one thing he has always remembered vividly is the day they had arrived at White Stone.

Jeno still remembers the awe he had felt seeing the towering castle peaks for the first time. How the high-pitched ceilings and sweeping curved eaves had been larger and grander than anything he had ever seen in his life.

It had been bewildering to see a castle so tall only to discover that its base sat deep at the bottom of a ravine he didn’t even know was there.

He remembers Doyoung had led them slowly down the sakura lined path to the base where the castle entrance loomed and he had peered up in awe at a construction of white marble and cherrywood that was far larger and far more overbearing than he had thought anything had any right to be.

Before Doyoung had taken his hand and guided him inside.

Brought him home.

White Stone was a marvel, but it was also his _home_.

It had taken months before he and Jaemin had settled into life there. Their entire world before then had been small and simple, but it had been burned away to nothingness and they had been carried off by the wind to a far-off kingdom, to live in a castle.

But once they had settled, they were home.

White Stone was where they belonged, and she was stunning. Jeno had never believed he would see a grander sight than the way the white marble glittered as the first rays of sunlight glinted off every polished corner of the castle peaks.

But he had never before seen the Black City.

Riding through the gates of the imperial capital has been one thing, but as Jaemin follows their assigned servant and Jeno follows his witch, he quickly realises that the castle itself is another thing altogether.

She is nothing short of overwhelming

White Stone is beautiful, but simple in her design. Most of her pillars are roughly hewn stone worn smooth with time, her curving eaves simple and elegant with each tapered storey.

The Black City is her complete opposite.

The castle almost seems like she is made of glass, the black stone smooth and sharp, shining like gemstone. She is glimmering and ephemeral and would strike awe into Jeno’s heart with ease, even if she was as stout and plain as White Stone. But instead the entire castle is elaborate and imperial.

There are enormous columns bolstered with swirls of bright white marble in the onyx stonework. Every doorway and window are framed with beautifully carved statues and stonework, each buttress and balustrade beautifully embellished and engraved with gold.

Jeno feels enormously plain standing under her grandiosity and perhaps for the first time feels like he could truly fade into the background and allow Jaemin to lead wherever he could possibly desire to go. Jeno could be happy disappearing into the shadows of this city, unseen and unused.

It is a conundrum in and of itself. A city made of black stone, glass cut and shining, and yet it seems _bright_. There seems to be no looming shadows; the people here are glowing all of their own and in turn seem to bring more light to the city than is possible.

It is a city Jaemin will thrive in, because Jaemin brings light wherever he goes. It is inbuilt in him, his magic thrumming in his bones so brilliant and beautiful and he has always fit White Stone so wonderfully. The merging of nature and city seemed seamless back home, the natural environment reflected in the castle and the city and most of all her people.

And yet, the Black City is the polar opposite and Jaemin is just as beautiful and encompassing here as he is at home. Perhaps because of its distinct comparison. He belongs easily in White Stone and yet here the differences make him all the more striking.

Jeno, however, truly just wants to disappear.

This place is too much. Too different. Too foreign. Too dangerous.

Jeno finds himself feeling wary and alert as they follow the servants along glistening corridors until they reach an enormous hall beset by a large door engraved with a raven in mid flight.

There are familiar looking runes engraved into the golden borders and Jeno feels a familiar shiver of protective magic as he follows them into the hall.

“His Majesty ordered for the hall to be prepared for you all. Each of you have been assigned rooms here, as well as a private dining hall. Your fellow Witches are situated just a few doors down,” the servant intones as he guides them up towards the far end of the corridor.

And, true to word, when Jeno cants a glance behind him, he can see Yuta dragging Doyoung along and some of the tension that has been building up like a vice since they left the greeting hall finally dissolves.

“I trust the rooms will be up to your standards, Magister?” the servant queries as he opens the doors to their rooms and Jaemin leads the way, Jeno ensuring he is but a step behind.

The room is large, beset with the sort of obnoxious luxury that Jeno only sees in glimpses back home.

They are but temporary guests and yet the rooms follow the same level of elaborate decoration as the impersonal halls of the lower castle.

Though they are at least a little more shy on the black, with the walls a pale cream embellished with falling golden leaves and the furniture a warm brown that reminds Jeno of cherrywood.

The bed, on the other hand, is nearly twice the size of the one they have at home. There is an open fire already burning, enormous glass doors that open out onto a private balcony. There is even an altar well within the sun’s natural cast.

And Jeno hates to admit it, but Jaemin looks wonderful against the backdrop of the room. He has always been beautiful, but with his hair faded from it’s normal pink into a soft white-blonde he looks otherworldy in his beautifully tailored robes.

And Jeno is so caught up in watching the way the sun glitters off the embroidered thorns along Jaemin’s collar and highlights his sharp jaw and cheekbones that it takes him a moment to realise that the guide is trying to catch Jeno’s attention.

“Yes?” he asks, peering at the narrowed eyed man and the servant simpers for a moment as if finally relieved to have Jeno listening to him.

“If you follow me, Guardsman, I can show you to your room?” he says and before Jeno can even really navigate his way through that statement, Jaemin snorts.

“He doesn’t need one. He’s staying in here.”

The servant looks between them nervously, at the white uniform Jeno is wearing and the snotty look on Jaemin’s face.

“It’s alright, Jaeminnie,” he says and offers the servant a courteous smile.

“Lead the way,” he says, and lets the man lead him back into the corridor. The servant makes it far more of an event than is necessary, given that the room he leads Jeno to is more of an antechamber and situated on the other side of the wall where Jaemin was probably sulking on his own enormous bed.

_Jeno’s_ room, however, is small. It’s little more than a closet with enough room for a single cot, a small side table for his belongings and an armour stand. A nondescript place for a bodyguard to sleep out of the way but well within shouting distance should the untoward happen.

Still. Jeno isn’t having it, and nor is Jaemin.

The Witch is lurking in the doorway when Jeno turns back to thank them for at least showing it to him. Except Jaemin has no room for even fake pleasantries.

“Now that you’ve wasted both our time is there anything important we need to know between now and this party?”

The servant goes a little bug eyed for a moment and Jeno is about to apologise when the young quartermaster just offers a stumbling bow.

“My apologies, young Magister. I will have someone sent to guide you at the sunset bell. Will that be all?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Jaemin says, voice still steely and unwavering. Unlike anything that Jeno has heard him sound like in White Stone.

The servant is gone in a flash of grey robes and Jaemin scoffs the moment the man is out of sight.

“You didn’t need to be rude,” Jeno chides and Jaemin huffs again.

“I’m not letting them treat you like that,” he says, like a jealous child, mindful of their toys. Jeno feels an odd mixture of annoyance and relief, because he’s glad, in a way, that Jaemin too had recognised it. That distinct difference in the way they had been treated.

Jaemin is the Witch, the powerful, important half of the two of them. Jeno is just the Witch Guard, and while they are here for a ritual that will make them two parts of the same whole, until that happens Jeno seems to have little to no power here.

He is here only at Jaemin’s behest. His position and history at White Stone are irrelevant. He has yet to prove himself to the fellow Guard, and to the Witches and nobility who walk these halls, he is to be seen and not heard. He is to follow, never lead.

Jaemin’s irritation is almost a balm, a replacement for Jeno’s own; after all, it is safer if Jaemin is the one causing the raucous. For Jaemin it is permitted.

Frowned upon, but permitted.

“Still. That wasn’t necessary, Jaem.”

“He’s a snitch, Dotori. I could feel it on him. He wasn’t here to help. He was here to spy and is getting paid good money for it given how happy he was about getting what he wanted.”

Jeno slumps, letting go of the need to call Jaemin out for his snappish attitude. It’s hard, knowing how people feel sometimes. Knowing the motives for their actions. Jaemin doesn’t mention it often, he keeps it mostly to himself. But there have been times where he whispers it in the dark where no one can hear them, his worries, what it’s like. And Jeno knows he cannot really fathom it, cannot understand it. No matter how hard he tries.

At least not yet.

Jaemin’s magic amplifies emotions, but it also reflects, it also bounces back at him, gives away the secrets people keep for themselves.

And before long, Jeno is finally going to know exactly what it’s like. Know exactly how it feels to greet someone they’ve never met and know their intentions are false. Know they’re going to do them harm.

“Come on, let’s go settle for a bit. I need a bath after that carriage ride,” Jeno says, prompting Jaemin towards their suite.

Jaemin relaxes almost immediately, the tension seeping out of his shoulders.

“Can I share? I need you to scrub my back,” he pouts and Jeno smiles, soft and small, because the whine in Jaemin’s voice says their tiff is forgotten. Jaemin isn’t going to hold it against him.

A shared bath and holding him close and quiet for a while is a tiny price to pay for his forgiveness.

“I guess so,” Jeno agrees and leads the way back into the room.

Thankfully there is more than enough room for the two of them to share a bath and time slips away far too quickly. So, while Jeno does enjoy letting the deep copper tub soak away his cramped muscles from travelling, he doesn’t really have enough time to enjoy being still and quiet and comfortable for long before they have to start getting ready.

Jaemin’s excitement starts low, and starts building in a way that is familiar and Jeno finds himself just sitting and smiling as he watches Jaemin unleash a whirlwind of energy on the room.

One of the benefits of their belongings being packed all together is that Jeno doesn’t have to go back into the small antechamber for more than his training armour, which he keeps on the armour stand and simply carries in.

The clothes that have been prepared for them have been kept together with Jaemin’s clothes, despite the glaring difference in colours and style.

And Jeno finds more comfort in finding his belongings still mixed between Jaemin’s than he cares to admit. Not to mention, setting out the brilliant white clothes made for him by the seamstresses of White Stone makes his chest ache with a weird sort of homesickness.

They have barely arrived and he already misses home.

But he appreciates them sending so much of it with him. The shirt and jacket made for him are embroidered with the familiar cherry blossoms of the castle’s Hollow Gates and as he slips each layer on and runs his fingers over the beautiful embroidery he feels like the soft layers of silk and layered cotton are scales of armour.

Tonight is not for steel, or so Doyoung had said on their long journey here. Tonight Jeno is not Jaemin’s protector, he is part of Jaemin himself. He is as much of a curiosity as his Witch.

And he hates it.

And so while he cannot wear his chest plate or take his sword, there are small allowances he can make. And so he slips out of the jacket and pulls the elaborate vambraces Siwon had commissioned for him over the gentle silk shirt, and as he clips the buckles into place he feels surer for it. Happier in his decision.

And Jaemin must be able to see it in him, as he is still only half dressed as he crosses the room to swat Jeno’s hands away from the buckles. His fingers are deft and sure as he tightens each strap and before Jeno can even think on it, he spins out to pick up the jacket and hold it out for Jeno to slip it back on.

It fits perfectly, vambraces and all.

“There, all done,” Jaemin says, with a softly-satisfied smile as he smooths down the jacket over Jeno’s shoulders and as Jeno looks at him he cant help but think Jaemin has never looked more beautiful than he does right now.

His hair has dried curly and dishevelled from their bath and he still hasn’t finished buttoning his shirt but he still takes Jeno’s breath away.

There is an art to a Witches look, Hyuck has lectured more than once. Hyuck prefers reds and vibrant golds, Renjun likes luscious greens and bronze and Taeyong dresses in greys and burnished silver.

Jaemin’s outfit is a deep burgundy, like the colour of pomegranates, the rich fabric pinching tight around his waist with loops of bright silver chains and black lace.

There are roses embellished along the low collar and out over his broad shoulders before cascading down his back in a whorl of metallic thread, glittering stones and glass beads. There are even delicate roses embroidered over his cuffed sleeves that match those on Jeno’s own armour and jacket.

He has a striking figure, tall and lithe and he is deceptively strong. Most witches only rely on their magic to fight with, if they choose to fight at all.

Jaemin has trained with Jeno since the day they first arrived at White Stone. It has not always been permitted. Heechul had been concerned with how dedicated Jaemin had been, especially since it had resulted in badly injuring himself when they were still young.

But Jaemin never stopped. He is almost as skilled with a blade as Jeno, and while Jeno is only a little taller – but much larger bodied all the same – Jaemin is still dangerous.

And despite his unfinished guise, for the first time he looks it.

At White Stone Jaemin has never been entirely as dedicated to his image as the others. Hyuck enjoys his trappings almost too much, and Renjun had grown up a noble’s son and still carries much of that atonement in the way he dresses.

Jaemin has never once looked like this. Looked like a true Witch of White Stone.

And Jeno finds himself standing taller.

Because this is what they have been prepared for. Jaemin is going to step forward into the Black City as the true Witch of Vitality, a Witch of White Stone and Jeno is his Guard.

This is what Siwon had prepared him for. And he will step forward right alongside Jaemin, wearing the roses of Jaemin’s heraldry.

Because he is _Jaemin’s._

“You should finish getting ready,” Jeno says instead of something soft and sweet. Instead of promising Jaemin the world, just like he wants to.

Jaemin scoffs but turns back to his collection of jewellery and makeup and time slips away from them.

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

Taeyong has always been beautiful. Even as a child, when his cheeks had been too big for his face and his hair never lay flat, he had always been the most beautiful thing Johnny has ever seen.

The castle grandmammas used to laugh at his bright-eyed crush, at the blind spot he carried for the boy he has been promised to since they were both in swaddling.

But Taeyong also had the ephemeral luck of a Witch and had grown _beautiful_ as he aged. His features now were striking and sharp, perfectly balanced by the enormous sweep of his dark eyes and a gentle, kissable mouth.

Johnny had mapped his face a thousand times across his memory in the rare silence he planted between dusk and dawn.

And yet, while _Taeyong_ is beautiful he is never lost in the trappings of his station. A Witch is only as powerful as they appear to be – and as the Witch of the Storm, the _Tempest Prince_ – Taeyong is an impossibility.

And here, in the Witch Court, Taeyong is like a dream – a perfect temptation.

Gone now is the dark curls of their Binding, his hair replaced once more by an artful sweep of bright grey that brushes softly around his neck, pinned back by peals and silver pins.

Johnny spends what feels like an eternity closing over a dozen tiny delicate buttons down the glittering spine of Taeyong’s grey overcoat, his shoulders sparkling with silver embroidery pinned with glittering stormglass and sapphires.

He is a vision, every inch the Witch Prince he has always meant to be.

And for the first time dressed _all_ in White, Johnny is the Witch Guard that had been promised.

This is, after all, a show. This first night, this first gathering is but a display of what they are. A revelation of Jaemin and Jeno to the Witch Court. But also a display of Taeyong – Taeyong and Johnny.

That return to what could have been. The Commander turned soldier and Johnny knows he is going to be made to heel. Knows he will be seen and Not Heard. Knows he is but an accessory now, but one that is more artifice and entertainment; glittering and new and full of fresh gossip.

He hates it. But for Taeyong he will conquer mountains.

A single night in the Witch Court is nothing.

And, after all, they are not alone.

The sky outside is fading well into dusk by the time there is a familiar knock on the door and Yuta lets himself in without care.

“What do you think?” Yuta demands, immediately doing a dramatic little twirl to allow the enormous sleeves of his sheer outer robes to swirl around him, glittering in the low light.

Taeyong laughs, giddy and bright.

“Beautiful, Yukkuri,” he grins, appeasing the other witch with as much care as Yuta seems to desire.

“What about you, Commander? Nothing to say?” he croons, gaze narrow and sharp. Johnny knows he’s being prodded on purpose, that Yuta’s nails aren’t as sharp as his tongue.

“Oh leave him be,” Taeyong chides and Yuta huffs, shoulders dropping.

“I see how it is, he’s only allowed to say _you’re_ pretty; nothing left for the rest of us.”

“Not when you’re being a brat,” Taeyong replies, perching himself purposefully on Johnny’s knee. Yuta laughs, tossing his head back with a hearty cackle that makes Johnny’s memories sing.

He’s missed this. It’s like an echo from a far off time and he tucks the feeling away with care. It’s taking time – and it will take more – before he feels truly at home again. That they trust him with the same love as they did before.

But, moments like this prove it is not in vain.

That, slowly, the witches of White Stone are welcoming him back home.

“Are the boys ready?” Taeyong asks, just as Doyoung lets himself into the room and the Witch of Hearth and Home just tuts.

“Don’t know,” Doyoung replies and Yuta beams at him like the sun.

“We’ll head over in a moment. Thought it best to check on you two first,” he says and Taeyong nods.

“Do we know why they’ve tossed us straight to the court yet?” Doyoung asks, arms folded and fingers glinting with golden rings as they drum a beat against his biceps.

“Not yet. I’m sure it wont be difficult to find out,” Taeyong muses, giving Johnny’s hand a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back and considers the witches words for a moment. The fact that yes, they have really been thrown straight into Court politics right away. The boys have not even slept yet and already Yunho is opening them to the sharp eyes of the Witch Court. Witch and nobility alike.

It’s strange, but not entirely untoward.

“It’ll take the edge off you two, I imagine,” Yuta muses, gaze narrow over their entwined fingers and Johnny feels a flash of embarrassment across the bond that flickers and fades as quickly as it comes.

But Taeyong doesn’t let go. His grip only tightens.

“Only for as long as it takes for Boa to get her claws in,” Doyoung says and Johnny huffs a laugh. Because isn’t that the truth.

Taeyong doesn’t falter.

“Diversion or not, it’s important to keep track of what happens with the boys tonight.”

“Dont worry, Yongie. That’s why we’re here,” Yuta says, voice gentle. The tension down Taeyong’s spine relaxes and he flashes the other witch a relieved smile.

“I know. Thankyou.”

“Let us take care of Jaemin and Jeno. You just look out for yourself. I’m sure the whole court knows about you two; they’re all going to be gagging to see you taken down a peg. Time to make them rue for it.”

“Oh I _will_ ,” Taeyong replies, sounding almost giddy and Johnny finds himself choking down a laugh.

“Speaking of, it’s almost time to bring the boys down,” Doyoung adds and Taeyong takes that moment to pry himself out of Johnny’s grip and stand up and he misses him immediately.

Taeyong just grins, like he knows.

“Keep a little time before you do, give the court a little time to choke on their outrage,” he says and Yuta grins, teeth sharp. 

“Dont you fret, Taeyong-ah. Doyoung’s still got at least one more speech left in him,” he says, sounding far more fond than would normally be warranted. “Plenty of time for you to cause a stir.”

Doyoung’s scowl pinches a deep line between his brows and it’s almost like he starts to steam.

Taeyong laughs and presses a kiss against the witch’s temple.

“Come now, Doyoungie, we know it’s because you care,” he admonishes. Doyoung doesn’t look particularly appeased but he stops sparking underfoot.

“Alright, time to go,” Taeyong says, flashing Johnny another soft smile and reaching out for his hand. Johnny takes it and allows his Witch to pull him towards the doors where on the other side of the castle the entire Witch Court is waiting for them.

The court is in full sway by the time they arrive and for a fleeting moment Johnny allows himself to be absolutely intimidated of the sweeping foray of glittering robes and statement hair pieces before he settles his expression closed and falls into step as they make their entrance.

There is no announcement, no declaration of their arrival, but Johnny feels a hundred eyes descend on them regardless.

Taeyong’s expression is closed, unapproachable and almost unkind. The room is looking right at him, but it is as if he can see none of them as he scans the room before leaning back to look straight at Johnny.

“I hate this,” he admits in a quiet whisper, smile perfectly in place and Johnny laughs, surprised.

Almost immediately he can see the whispers start and so can Taeyong. But rather than feel weighted down, Johnny can only feel the amusement across their bond.

“Come on, lets find Tennie and Sicheng,” Taeyong says and starts leading the way.

It doesn’t take long.

The Obsidian Ballroom is enormous and there are already a great number of the Court in attendance, Witch and noble alike and yet no one seems brave enough to stand in Taeyong’s way. Not for long.

He nods in hello to only a few, most who Johnny recognises including the Witch of Reflection Jinki, and Chungha the Witch of Lightning who Johnny has only ever met on the Wall.

But it doesn’t take long to locate Ten amongst the maelstrom, lingering towards the middle of the first quarter with a disinterested pout that seems to be keeping most of the crowd a step or two away from them.

They’re a vision in black and emerald green tonight, the long swathes of their sheer robes accentuating their tiny figure. Exaggerating every careful movement of neck or leg or wrist.

They are as untouchable as ever and radiate a power that no one could ever quite fathom. Ten has always been an enigma, something that had buried deep into Johnny’s heart when they were both young and Ten had been so cautious. They had been fragile and vicious, their tongue as sharp as the nails they used to scratch at anyone who got too close.

But their expression lightens the moment they notice Taeyong in the crowd and it’s hard to dissuade the memories Johnny has kept of them all these years at that brilliant, beautiful smile.

“Taeyongie!” Ten croons as they greet each other, the Witch of Renewal reaching out with lace covered hands for Taeyong’s own and pressing a kiss against his palm.

“You look beautiful,” Taeyong admonishes and Ten preens.

“I do, don't I?” they grin, twiddling their fingers where each nail is wrapped in sharpened silver that extends like knives. It’s then that their attention slips towards Johnny and the smile slips off their face.

“Hi Ten,” Johnny says, flashing the Witch a smile.

Ten doesn’t smile back.

In fact, Ten looks Johnny up and down and sneers, offering little more than a discourteous little sniff of disdain, just shy of an actual snarl.

“Tennie,” Taeyong murmurs, part disapproval but Johnny can also tell he’s also far too amused for it to matter much. Ten just squares their shoulders and turns their attention entirely back on Taeyong, almost pretending like Johnny isn’t there at all.

“Where are the boys?” Ten asks, peering around the room with their gaze narrowed and Johnny takes note of several pairs of eyes hastily turning away. He swallows down the smile that pulls at his lips.

Ten doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Doyoung and Yuta are bringing them down soon,” Taeyong soothes and Ten’s bristling settles back like feathers on a bird.   
  


“Oh good, Doyoung’s hovering will at least stop these vultures from starting a trade dispute like Donghyuck.”

“Don’t remind me,” Taeyong sighs, but Johnny can feel the delight that burns brightly under his skin and he is once again reminded of how little they can show here. How little truth can be offered up for free.

“I’m surprised that he didn’t come along,” Ten muses, slipping their arm into Taeyong’s and leading them into a slow walk that sends half a dozen nobility scattering.

“He would have, if he could. Leeteuk denied him, if he even got as far as asking,” Taeyong replies as Johnny falls into step behind them.

“Doyoung and Yuta didn’t ask?”

“Mercy no,” Taeyong laughs, and casts a gentle glance back towards Johnny. It’s a small gesture and one he appreciates. He can feel the warm gaze of the room on his back. Those not looking right at him certainly peering _through_ him at the two witches leaning in close to one another as they gossip. It’s not an unnatural sight, but for the mundane around them – for the powerless nobility it might as well be a display of their impotence. 

“Is Sicheng coming?” Taeyong asks as they make it to the end of the room and Ten leans down to take up a glass of wine, the liquid flickering black in the crystal glass.

‘’Not here. We try not to leave Dejun alone, particularly for things like this,” Ten says, lips pursed as they glance into the lingering crowd with a sharp, distrusting gaze. “Not everyone will show.”

Johnny certainly can’t disagree with that.

He knows very little of Ten’s charge. Taeyong hadn’t necessarily held back as he had told him what he knew, but he had been tempered. Like he wasn’t sure what could actually be said. Much he himself still didn’t know.

A Witch, young and long broken, rescued from a life of captivity.

It’s enough to make Johnny’s blood boil. A fate no one deserved, and yet the man behind it had been one of the same people who were floating about them now. Peering at Ten and Taeyong like they are curiosities to be wary of.

“You’re still keeping him out of sight?” Taeyong whispers and Ten nods, a barely-there cant of their head almost impossible to catch.

“He isn’t ready for this,” Ten replies and that seems to be all Taeyong needs to know. Here, at the very least. Johnny can feel the echoes of his compassion, his heartbreak. He wants to help. And his rage wants to hurt.

The boy’s captor might well be dead, but they all know he was never alone.

And tonight, Jaemin will be introduced to them all, like an animal for slaughter.

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

The waterclock on the far side of the room has barely struck six when there is a familiar knock and Jeno opens the large oak doors to the familiar sight of a somewhat-grumpy looking Witch of Hearth and Home.

Doyoung’s brows are pulled tight and there is a frown curling the corners of his lips that seems to melt away as he follows Jeno through the doors and Jaemin feels his hyung’s warm gaze on his back.

It’s difficult not to smile when Jaemin turns around, surprised all at once by Doyoung’s finery and happily amused at how annoyed he seems by it.

Doyoung looks far more put together than Jaemin thinks he’s ever seen him, not that Doyoung ever looks _scruffy,_ if anything he always looks far more put together than most of the other Witches of White Stone. It is just compared to most he simply looks _plain._ His clothes are as impeccably tailored as everyone elses, fitting him perfectly. His coats are always clean and sharp, but simple, without embellishment or interesting cut.

The Doyoung of now is a far cry from the Doyoung of home.

There are echoes of his familiar style, in the sharp, clean tailoring of his impeccable over coat. The fabric so deep a black that it seems to almost absorb the light around it but for the subtle glimmer of the embroidering along his collar and cuffs, sweeping upwards in gentle curves like growing flames. But what is most enticing is the underside of his long jacket is a brilliant, illuminating red, and for once Doyoung almost looks dangerous. He looks every millimetre a Witch of his Station. A Witch of White Stone.

After all, that is what this celebration is for. It’s to show off, it’s to fuel a burning fire of rivalry, status and power. A fire pit that Jaemin is about to enter.

And he knows he should be wary, even nervous, but rather there is a level of excitement that he is unable to settle back to sleep. A buzzing under his skin that feels entirely his own.

After all, they have Doyoung, their hyung, who has always kept careful watch over them and Jaemin has never questioned that careful eye before.

“Look at you!” Doyoung crows as he steps back to look first Jeno up and down. Jaemin watches as Jeno almost instinctively he squares his shoulders and stands up tall to fully show off the beautiful uniform the steamstress’ had made for him and he giggles at the pair of them.

Revelling for a moment in the pride that seems to swell gently between them. Pride in home. Pride in each other.

“Time for another speech, hyung?” Jaemin teases, draping himself over Doyoung’s shoulders and squeezing tight. Doyoung’s hand immediately comes up to hold onto Jaemin’s, fingers too hot and yet entirely pleasant.

“Come now, don’t be cruel, he’s been writing it in his head for well over the last hour,” a familiar voice calls as Yuta lets himself into the room.

Yuta by comparison is dressed to impress, with no drama spared to the elaborate embroidery up and down his black and silver robes, so delicate and beautiful he practically glitters.

“I just want you to be prepared,” Doyoung atones and Jaemin laughs and presses a kiss to the Witch’s cheek.

“And we love you for it,” he declares.

In the end, for all Yuta’s dramatics, Doyoung’s speech is short and concise. Little more than a reminder.

To keep their wits, keep their tongues, believe nothing and trust even less.

“But remember, we’ll both be keeping an eye on everything,” Yuta says once Doyoung is done. “Not that anyone is going to try anything. They’re not that stupid. But it’s wise to keep your wits here. Don’t promise anything, don’t deny anything, and most of all don’t accept anything from anyone. We’ll keep track of it all. So don’t worry your pretty little heads.”

It’s a double edged sword really, because its comforting to know, but Jaemin still hates it. He still feels a growing edge of wariness he can’t shake and he doesn’t even know if the feeling is his or belongs to the others.

Eventually it’s time to leave, the gathering bell ringing out through the grounds of the castle and echoing into the room through the open balcony doors and almost a minute barely goes by before there is a courteous knock on the door and another servant is waiting for them.

Yuta takes the lead as they all sweep out of the room, and Doyoung lingers long enough to walk with Jeno at the rear.

The walk through the castle is just as awe inspiring as it had been that morning, and Jaemin finds it difficult to keep his attention ahead of himself as he’s distracted by the enormous portraits lining the halls, the intricate paintings and frescoes of the Seven Acts. Heroes of battles past, witches who had given their lives and the soldiers who had stood alongside them. Even portraits of those who stand in Royal Office and Jaemin thinks idly of Donghyuck being forced to stand still long enough for one to be painted and has to swallow down a cackle.

But even the corridors are nothing compared to the Obsidian Ballroom. It is as large and ostentatious as Jaemin has always heard it to be.

Renjun has always been sour-faced when describing his experiences here after all, and when probed for information he had always given it with the same apropos as pulling teeth. When questioned about the famous ballroom, his description had simply been that it was larger than any room had any use ever being _._

And he certainly hadn’t been wrong.

He and Jeno have come a long way from the one room cottages they had been born in to the elaborate confines of White Stone.

When they had first arrived both he and Jeno had been given their own rooms, their own _beds_ bigger than their old cottages had been combined. Back then neither of them had any desire to be separated further than it took to use the privy and so the two rooms had been quickly cut back to one, but that still did little to help them acclimatise to the sheer _size_ of White Stone.

They were village boys suddenly living in a castle.

Jaemin has that same feeling of wild disorientation now staring up at the enormous high-vaulted ceiling in a hall that simply seems to stretch longer than he is even capable of seeing.

It almost seems impossible to count the lines of pillars on either side of the room, pinpointing at each curve of vaulted glass. The pillars themselves made of polished black stone so smooth it looks like crystal and each one inlaid with elegantly carved runes.

The floor is a glittering patchwork of black and gold tiles and awash with the blurred murmuring of a hundred voices as the entire Witch Court lingers through the entire space like a flock of elaborately dressed birds.

“The first hour is for mingling,” Yuta says, voice low. “Afterwards the second rooms open up and you’ll be formally greeted into the Court.”

“Okay,” he says, squeezing Jeno’s hand tight once more and then, with a shake he lets go.

“Time to mingle,” Jaemin says and his hand feels empty as they take their first step in.

Jaemin is not altogether averse to crowds.

He finds his limits come and go; there are days where he feels almost bursting and there are days where he feels awfully small.

Today feels caught somewhere between the two, a fractious sort of excitement stuck in his throat and impossible to dislodge. But he knows what is being asked of him, knows what he needs to be in order to carry through this night unscathed. Doyoung has been very particular about it.

And not through any sort of over-zealousness it seems.

Jaemin has been content to feel the other witch’s warnings to be more on the exaggerated side than not.

But standing in the open doors of the Obsidian Ballroom, he cannot help but feel as if he is standing in the open maw of something enormous about to swallow him whole.

The room feels _bursting,_ the air almost thick and syrupy with so much emotion in the air. His magic is vibrating under his skin and his heart almost _pounds_ with the sheer volume rushing past him all at once.

He feels his smile waver, like the very first crack in a painting and he steels himself. Tucks his hands behind his back and matches his hyung’s stride as he follows Yuta and Doyoung into the fray.

They are descended upon almost instantly, the first too-proud pair breaking away from the glittering crowd to meet them at the brunt. Jaemin can feel the auspicious pride under his tongue and he swallows it down with a laugh at the portly pair of elderly Lords, too eager and too vain to allow anyone else to get in their way. 

“Magister Yuta! Magister Doyoung! My how _dashing_ you both look tonight,” the elder of the two old men gleam, their beards over-oiled and their robes thick and expensive.

“Lord Chell,” Yuta says, and Jaemin can feel the familiar lick of Yuta’s amusement and it gives him something to focus on that is familiar and warm, like an achor in a storm.

“Ah, and this must be your newe0st childe of White Stone?” Lord Chell says, grinning wide.

“Indeed. This is Jaemin,” Yuta says, warmly and Jaemin finds himself standing taller almost by instinct.

“Magister Jaemin, welcome! Welcome to the Black City! Tell me, my boy, how are you finding it? Have you seen the lily groves?” the older man gushes and Jaemin finds himself almost swept away.

The two Lords pride thankfully seems to have settled back under the brighter burn of sheer curiousity, which is far easier to swallow.

“Not yet, my Lord,” Jaemin replies, reaching out for that soothing warmth, standing just behind him.

He cannot reach out – not physically. There are too many eyes on them.

But Jeno is right where Jaemin needs him and he breathes a little easier and steels himself for the night ahead.

“Oh, you truly must. The gardens here are lovely, but the lily groves beyond the city quells are _truly_ marvellous,” Lord Chell chimes in, and well, this he can do. He can charm two proud old men eager for a little prestige. Eager to crow about their cities charms, earnest despite their pride.

And as Yuta slips away, pulling Doyoung along with him, Jaemin breathes deep and then turns his smile towards a lingering pair of women trying to slip their way into the conversation.

This he can do.

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

Events like this are hands down one of Yuta’s _least_ favourite things.

But, even his own distaste can be forgone when it comes to family.

Witnessing Jaemin’s first foray into this hellhole isn’t something he is about to miss.

While he may not have the same level of adoration for the boys as Doyoung, he is not about to let them go by unsupervised and he is not going to miss Jaemin’s welcoming Oath.

He still cannot quite decide if he regrets foregoing Donghyuck’s crowning ceremony, where the boy had almost started a land dispute between two Lords of the Western Vaisles out of sheer boredom.

Or spite.

Taeyong has spent so many favours burying any hint of that truth amongst the Court that Yuta has spent the last year mourning the fact he missed it.

And while he’s not quite expecting the same level of sheer mischief out of Jaemin, he’s at least here to carry the story if necessary.

And well, there’s always Doyoung.

Doyoung, who – like Renjun – had been born into this cacophony. As a second son, it hadn’t been much of a loss when his elder brother Gong Myung had left him in Heechul’s care nearly fifteen years ago after the death of their mother.

Gong Myung had taken up his role as the First Born son, set to inherit the Kim family Estates and all it’s ventures, and Doyoung had taken up his place in White Stone, the Witch of Hearth and Home.

His Doyoung, who loves Jaemin and Jeno like he loves no other and Doyoung, oh, Doyoung _loves._

His love is deep and endless, ever-burning and brilliant.

And well, while Jaemin might not start a trade war, Doyoung might if the wrong buttons are pressed.

“You can't hover the whole night. You’ll do more harm than good being a storm cloud,” Yuta murmurs as they linger near the outer corner of the entrance hall. And he smiles at the beleaguered scrunch of Doyoung’s nose as he can see his Witch arguing internally against that very obvious fact.

Yuta knows Doyoung understands that; it’s little more than a friendly reminder.

Yuta is precious over the boys himself. But he’s also a tiny bit curious to let Jaemin loose and experience the chaos. It’s not quite as bad as if it were Donghyuck here in their place. But Yuta is excited all the same.

And he is content to love and adore their boys without the same level of concern that Doyoung is seemingly unable to let go of.

And that is something Yuta isn’t going to ask him to do. He wasn’t there when Doyoung first found them in the ruins of their former village, covered in ash and blood. But he has seen echoes of it in his dreams, heard the tale rewoven enough times to feel a familiar jolt whenever he thinks back to it.

Jaemin had been a trembling and exhausted wisp, his magic new and sparking and out of his control. It had been the only thing to save them: Jaemin subconsciously manifesting a spell that he had held on to for hours.

And when they had finally emerged from the remnants of destruction, it had been Jeno’s turn to protect them. He had been like a guard dog, standing fiercely between his exhausted friend and any one who had come near them and that is something Yuta had experienced first hand. Something that Jeno continued even to this day.

Even if he is the kindest, sweetest guard dog that Yuta has ever met.

But while Yuta has only experienced those terrified, traumatised boys second hand, Doyoung had been the one to sweep them up.

Doyoung had been the first Witch to arrive at their village, a fire witch conveniently placed to accompany the contingent of soldiers who had approached the tower of black smoke on the horizon.

He had been fast to act, snuffing out the flames without strain as that first contingent of soldiers had swept through the village, scouring the remnants for survivors.

There were only five to have survived the attack, and of those five had been two little boys.

Doyoung has protected them ever since.

He had surrendered the supervision of the town to Jongdae and instead brought Jaemin and his little guard dog back to White Stone. Back to Heechul.

Back home.

And now they are here, in the core of the Black City and like a fretting mother hen Doyoung is almost incapable of letting them out of his sight.

It's adorable, and Yuta coos as he gently brushes a wayward lock of Doyoung’s fringe back into place.

“I’m not going to interfere,” Doyoung says, but there is a moue about his mouth, all stubborn and itching to prod and poke and threaten.

As much as Yuta hates Black City politics, he also knows that tonight is more about a first taste than anything untoward. It's not that it's an impossibility; most of the nobility will take any chance they can get to undermine a Witch at Court.

But its unlikely.

Jaemin is fresh meat, he’s a delicacy rarely seen in the Black City. It’s been nearly two years since one of Heechul’s boys has been welcomed to the Witch Court and that alone would eventually stir the Court’s attentions towards Jaemin even if he isn’t the first Witch set to Bind in years.

It had been the same when they had brought Donghyuck to the City for his crowning. The fawning had been excessive and had definitely gone to the boy’s head. But Taeyong had the mind to keep Donghyuck shy of the full extent of the Black City.

In fact, Ten and Sicheng had been the Heart’s last real statements at Court and as he spots Ten across the room their eyes meet and Yuta grins. A flare of excitement burning in his belly to pull Ten aside and hear first hand just what sort of mischief their Witch of Renewal has actually been up to.

“Will you behave if I leave? I want to mingle,” Yuta asks, reaching for Doyoung’s hand. Doyoung’s nose scrunches as he considers it before finally nodding and allowing Yuta to link their fingers together.

“I’m going to find Taeyong,” he says, sounding grouchy, but he doesn’t pull back and Yuta decides he’ll take it.

If he’s besetting poor Yongie with his grumbling and crackling embers then at least he’s not destroying his brothers trade supply routes or something.

It might have been 15 years since Doyoung last considered himself a Kim, but the Nobility never forget.

Yuta brings up their joined hands and presses a kiss to their linked fingers, watching with glee as Doyoung looks away with a blush dusting the tops of his cheeks.

“Be off with you,” he scowls, but it is Yuta who still has to pull away and he sends another flying kiss as he backs away into the crowd.

Thankfully, Tennie hasn’t wandered far, and, like Doyoung before them, seems to be lingering on the fringes of the growing audience, biding their time.

Yuta grins the moment Ten’s notices his approach and the Witch of Renewal’s answering little grin makes a familiar joy unfurl itself in Yuta’s chest.

The anxiety he’s been feeling since they arrived finally giving sway to something comforting.

Ten seems to have blossomed well under the political pressure of the Black City. Their shoulders are square, and chin held high and it strikes a gentle sort of pride in Yuta that he revels in as the younger Witch marches through the crowd expecting anyone and everyone to scurry out of their way.

All of them do.

“When I heard you were advertising your little tete-a-tete with Doyoung I didn’t think it would go on for _quite_ this long,” Tennie says as soon as they sidle up to Yuta’s side, and it’s only when Ten reaches out to play with a curl of Yuta’s hair that he remembers the shocking shade of red he’s kept since Taeyong’s secrets started filtering out.

He can’t help but grin, gaze listing over towards Johnny who is still lingering just to Taeyong’s side, watching the crowd with keen eyes while Taeyong and Doyoung bicker between themselves.

“It keeps Johnny on his toes,” he says with pride and Ten laughs, giddy and bright and for a moment Yuta misses them so _fiercely_ he almost forgets they’re standing right in front of him.

Of course not all of Ten is; that is in part one of the real truths of the Black City. You can never be entirely yourself, and while Tennie has never worn their heart on their sleeve, Yuta can still see the shadows of the pieces Ten has shut away in order to survive here.

“He got taller,” Ten sniffs and Yuta laughs.

“Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure that’s just because you stopped growing before he left,” Yuta can’t help but say, flashing the Witch of Renewal a smug grin and he turns into the slap Ten hits him with. Letting the blow almost roll entirely off his shoulder.

“Is he happier?” Ten asks after a moment, a beat of quiet too long that lets the Witch’s gaze linger on Taeyong.

“Yes,” Yuta says, feeling the weight of the word linger on his tongue. It tastes like relief, heavy and disparate. The hard line of Ten’s mouth softens and they nod, finally looking back at Yuta.

“I was worried. When Doyoung told me what happened. I almost came back.”

“What stopped you?” Yuta asks, unable to curl his curiosity away from his tongue. Ten looks despondent.

“The witchling.”

That’s a surprise and also not one in the slightest. Yuta knows there is clearly more gone unsaid about this boy of theirs. This Witch they stole back from those who locked him away.

Yuta doesn’t know the specifics; no one does. But there is no one better suited to loving a child rescued from a cage than their Tennie. Even if they think they’re too afraid to do so.

“Ah. How is he?” Yuta asks, gentle and curious all at once.

Ten’s letters have been regular, but they are always particularly sparse on details of their new charge. The last time Yuta had read one of Doyoung’s letters the boy hadn’t even admitted his real name to anyone and they had still been calling him Xiao because it was the only thing that he seemed to respond to.

They have clearly gone well beyond that tentative truce given the way Ten’s dark expression lightens and Yuta can’t help but feel surprised at the sudden glimmer in Ten’s eyes. There isn’t much that inspires so much light in them at a mere mention.

Ten is a bright presence, when they allow themselves to fill a room. Capturing the light and attention of all who are in it almost without trying.

But Yuta has known them since they were both children.

Time has stretched between them long and limber. It has been months since he has seen Ten.

But that time apart cannot erase all the time that has come before.

There is something in this witchling. Something that lights Ten up from the inside out, not the other way around.

And if the rumours are true...

If the Witch’s magical inclinations are what Yuta has heard, it doesn’t take a genius to understand Ten’s immediate attachment.

But it does take those who know Ten.

Yuta smiles.

“He’s doing well. He’s come a long way.”

“I’m glad. Taeyong will be too.”

“He’s really okay? You wouldn’t lie to me, Yuta, would you?”

Ten’s expression darkens again and Yuta reaches out to wrap his fingers around the dark fabric of Ten’s small wrist and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Never about this,” Yuta says, and the lie sparks against his tongue. Because lies are tenfold here. Yuta has lied for Taeyong before, and he will again.

Ten knows it too.

But the difference is that the need is gone. The moon has waned.

Taeyong’s magic was unbound, an open wound _bleeding_ for nearly five years.

But now it’s finally starting to heal. And it’s an obvious thing. Yuta can feel it any time Taeyong leads a spell.

There is strength in his magic again. A stability that had been absent for so long that hindsight makes for a horrifying picture.

But Johnny’s return. The Binding, as unconventional as it is, they are better for it.

_Taeyong_ is better for it.

“I think we’re both off the hook for now Tennie,” Yuta says, giving the Witch of Renewal another gentle squeeze.

“We don’t need to worry about stopping him anymore.”

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

After Ten breaks away and is drawn back into the crowd, Johnny follows Taeyong as he flutters between the aristocracy.

Few seem to pay him any attention at all,  content to whisper and gawk as they pass by,  while others offer little more than courte ous bow but no matter where they go, the  eyes follow. 

He had known this would be the case. That their scandal would have more value to the people here than their presence. 

So while the whispers are irritating at best, he keeps a measured step behind Taeyong and offers little more than he is required to give, choosing instead to keep a weather eye towards the outline of Jaemin and Jeno lingering through the crowd.

The boys are popular – or rather Jaemin is. Like Johnny himself, Jeno seems but an invisible figure. The people here have long been accustomed to the Witch Guard as silent lingering figures. Even here the walls are manned with a vibrant soldier dressed in white, eyes lingering over the crowd but silent and ignored.

But Jeno is not the only Witch Guard amidst the crowd and considering how large Park Chanyeol stands, it is hilarious in and of itself that he manages to escape Johnny’s notice until he demands it for himself. 

“Commander Suh Youngho, returned to the City of Shadows, well I’ll be damned,” his voice chimes over Johnny’s ear.

“Chanyeol,” Johnny crows, in surprise, unable to hide the truth in his smile as the fellow Witch Guard offers him a hand in greeting.

“I didn’t think I’d see you in a place like this,” Johnny says as Chanyeol settles beside him, wine glass in hand. The Witch Guard chuckles and gives a nondescript shrug.

“I’m not saying long,” he replies and Johnny laughs.

“You’ll make enemies of us all if you rub that in,” he says and Chanyeol preens.

“Ah, you’ll survive. Most of the vultures here don’t know how to bite even if they had the teeth for it.”

Johnny snorts, looking back towards the crowd.

“It’s not their teeth I’m worried about,” he replies and Chanyeol chuckles, low and gravel-deep.

“Come join us on the training field, I can teach you what you should be looking for. Besides, it’ll do you good to get back to basics after so long on the sidelines, Lord Commander,” Chanyeol teases.

Johnny huffs.

“I’ll see your ass in the dirt before dawn with that sort of talk,” he replies and Chanyeol snorts.

“And here I thought you’d gone soft. Guess we’ll have play things out.”

“Guess so,” Johnny replies, distracted for a moment by a flash of irritation across his bond and when he looks Taeyong’s way it’s to find him murmuring quietly with Doyoung at the edge of the crowd. For all outward appearances completely at ease.

Chanyeol hums, following Johnny’s gaze with narrowed eyes.

“Ah, and there he is,” the Guard says, voice lilting just enough Johnny looks back. “The Witch of the Hour. No wonder you’re as sharp as ever. It was quite the stir when the news came in. Commander on the Wall and the Tempest Prince, finally binding. And without permission, too. Quite the scandal,” Chanyeol says, face twisting into a troublesome smirk.

“You sound like a gossiping witchling, Yeol,” Johnny chides and the other man laughs. Shrugging it off.

“Come on, can you blame me? No one thought the Tempest would ever be tamed and yet here we are. Keep a weather eye, Johnny. He’s not the only storm in this here City,” Chanyeol says, knocking into Johnny’s shoulder in a casual warning before he tosses a wink and slips back into the crowd.

And when Johnny turns back to Taeyong and Doyoung, he finds his witch looking at him with dark eyes and a knowing look.

But with Chanyeol breaking the ice keeping Johnny a silent untouchable figure it takes absolutely no time at all before he finds himself being addressed by a grey eyed Lord with more determination than sense.

“Commander Suh, Lord Youngjin Park – what a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, my Lord,” Johnny replies with as much gravity as he can muster as the older man preens in greeting.

“Commander Suh, I must say I was simply _delighted_ to hear you would be attending to our Court tonight, my nephews always speak so very highly of the Scrums. You cut off three incursions last year was it not?”

“Four,” Johnny corrects as he offers the man the best smile he can muster. It’s always the same with these sorts of conversations and he holds his tongue against the truth. It doesn’t matter to most that the incursions he and his soldiers had fought against were little more than corpses caught in an endless cycle dedication to the Cloud. They had no will of their own. It was why so many of them had been permitted home.

The Wall had seemed quiet. As close to safe as they are ever granted to declare.

And yet, now that status has already been revoked.

“My, how glorious, and to see you returned to us here at Court. With Prince Taeyong no less. I’m sure things will be far easier now that a Witch of his calibre will be joining you. I do find it ever so curious that so many of Heechul’s witches remain hidden away. It will be good to see our best where they are needed.”

Any courtesy Johnny had been holding together for the man shrivels into a lightning-quick anger at how casually they seem to deem Jaemin and Jeno as little more than pawns to be placed as needed.

There aren’t many bound pairs amongst the Witches of the Court. Not as many as there should be. The practice is old, and useful but slowly dwindling down to but a select few every passing year or so.

And most of them do find their way to the Wall.

Donghae has been bound to Hyukjae for years and their permanent basis in White Stone is a rarity not normally afforded even to those who have already fought.

After all, a Witches power ran far deeper with the addition of their Guard, and such forces were more useful on the Wall. It doesn’t matter that they had spent their time years ago. That even before Johnny had ended up a soldier the two of them had been fighting to keep the Scrums from being only the first of many broken sections of the Wall.

They have earned their peace.

And yet there remains those who believe that they _belong_ no where else but the front. That once a Witch and Guard are bound, they lose their autonomy as well.

Johnny is seething, pressing his tongue against his teeth in an attempt to keep himself quiet and the man continues as if blind.

“I’m surprised you spent so long in White Stone, Commander. The rumours say you were there for weeks before your affair was discovered,” Lord Park declares, peering over their wineglass with as auspicious an air as they can seem to muster, turning from one ignorant statement to the next as if they were a pendulum.

Johnny hates it.

He knows the truth doesn’t matter. Knows that every false version of events he has heard and will hear has become more of the truth to those here no matter what even he or Taeyong may say otherwise.

Rumours have the power to overwhelm a single voice of reason – Johnny knows that well enough. But it is no less frustrating.

“White Stone was my home long before the Wall. It was a joy to be back there again,” he says, blithely. Knowing his words have gone in one ear and out the other.

“But what of the Wall? The soldiers have been called back, correct? The Huang’s have even collected on _three_ contracts in just a month. It seems particularly odd to abandon your post, Commander,” Lord Youngjin continues.

Lord Youngjin’s smile sticks as Johnny’s anger burns with a familiar power that settles deep into his bones. The words are blind and little more than _gossip_ but they hurt. He grits his teeth around an empty smile and is about to answer when a warm hand settles against the small of his back, fingers bone thin.

“While I understand ignorance is bliss, you rely on it far too much, Lord Park, to bother attending any sort of function. You embarrass yourself by even opening your mouth. I know it helps you sleep at night rather than acknowledge your son has more children in the market square than his nursery, but it does little at Court,” Taeyong bites, voice soulless but sharp. “You may never actually _meet,_ Commander Qian, but it would do you well to know his name. It will abash us all less.” 

The mans mouth opens and shuts with a thoughtless sort of offence that nearly has Johnny laughing, but Taeyong doesn’t give them long enough to build a reply and turns away, slipping his hand into Johnny’s and pulling him along behind him. 

“I hate them all,” he says, just loud enough for Johnny to hear. The link between them flutters with a fluctuating anger that Johnny cannot tell belongs to himself or Taeyong. But it’s existence and the warm link of their hands is enough to tuck that bruised ego deep within him again. 

He has been expecting it, after all. Why would he surrender his life – his title – to walk one step behind Taeyong? 

He is a Wall-side Commander. He has seen more bloodshed in the last five years than everyone in this room combined. And yet it is these people who make the decisions that end with Johnny’s soldiers living or dying. It is these same ignorant nobles whose family estates make bets with their food supply with the weight of their own egos. Who promise soldiers at round tables as political gain and then make farmers children carry the cost. 

Johnny hates them all. Every single one of them. 

And they are all here to stare as Jaemin is introduced to the Court. Another Witch whose magic will play a part in keeping back the Mistborn. A boy, who is going to bind himself to someone he has always loved and because of it they are going to end up in the middle of a war. 

And yet no one here cares. 

All they want to know is what Jaemin can do, and how it can benefit them.

They aren’t even going to pay Jeno an ounce of attention,  simply expecting him to fight and bleed for them all and stay silent all the while. 

“Johnny?” 

Taeyong is looking at him with a gentle gaze and its enough to settle the buzzing noise in his head. He breathes out the air freezing in his lungs and squeezes Taeyong’s hand in comfort. 

“Thankyou for rescuing me,” he says and laughs at the furious little moue about Taeyong’s mouth. 

“You didn’t need me, I simply take too much joy in telling them off. I’m allowed to – my reputation precedes me.” 

“Ten would be so proud.”

“Who do you think fuels that reputation?” Taeyong grins and Johnny has to hold back a laugh. Because that makes an awful lot of sense. The Tempest Prince – a moniker known across the Kingdoms, down to the very scrums of the Wall. 

“But just so you know,” Taeyong says, squeezing his hand tight. “You don’t have to hold back. Tell them to burn if you need to. It’s what they deserve.” 

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

The first thing that had crossed Jaemin’s mind as they had entered the Ballroom was how right Renjun had been. The whole room had _reeked_ – the emotions thick and sour, all ambition and deception and suspicion.

And they have been here over an hour and the whole room is still rife with it, the air rancid and sharp in his throat, and despite how excited he has been to reach this very moment, the anticipation and excitement has burnt away to something queasy and sluggish. 

Every conversation feels the same and while Jaemin is very good at smiling, at being  _charming_ , it is starting to wear thin. The same words sliding off his tongue, the same feelings creeping on the edge of his peripheries.  _Want, want, want, want._

It’s never ending. Every curiousity backed by something selfish. It is not unfamiliar to him – everyone is more than capable of it. It underlies so much of a persons feelings, the fuel of their desires. 

But this is not the selfishness Jaemin knows, that he forgives before he can recognise the aftertaste. 

“Will you excuse me?” he says, leaning forward to touch the hand of the old noble woman as he smiles. His cheeks are already aching from the strain, but the effect wins out and the old woman tuts, eyes still alight with mirth at his gentle teasing.

  
“Of course my dear boy, don’t be a stranger now,” she says and Jaemin winks.

  
“That would be impossible,” he says and finally breaks away.

His head hurts and as he leads the way through the crowd towards a quiet corner situated near one of the tables groaning under the weight of enormous flower arrangements and sparsely placed trays of sweetmeats, he feels Jeno only half a step behind.

Are you okay?” Jeno asks, the moment they come to a stop in the shadow of a pillar. He leans in to whisper the words close to Jaemin’s ear and almost on instinct Jaemin closes his eyes and tries to focus on the tempo-beat of Jeno’s heart and the familiar pull of his emotions.

“Injunnie was right,” he says, and Jeno huffs, threading his fingers through Jaemin’s and giving a gentle squeeze. “Everyone here is awful,” he complains.

  
“Focus on me,” Jeno says and Jaemin nods, offering him a gentle smile and Jeno smiles back but it’s empty and doesn’t even glaze the worry Jaemin can read in the tension down Jeno’s spine. He doesn’t even feel it, not like he can when Jeno means those smiles. But the crinkle of his eyes makes Jaemin’s heart soothe all the same, and he fights to ignore the pull of everyone else in the room a little easier.

He knows they’re watching, whispering, but he knows there is more to this than their focus. More than their gaze, and Jaemin is trying to prove them otherwise.

It had seemed easier earlier, when he wasn’t drowning under the sickening draw of their ambition and distrust.

“You should eat something,” Jeno says, looking down at the spread along the table nearby. It’s less than their familiar fare and more sickening delicacies designed to be picked at between drinks. Colourful fruits and berries amongst tiny squares of pastry Jaemin can’t discern are meant to be sweet or savoury.

If this was any other day he would be excited by the glittering display of sugared fruits and sweets and Jeno would have a conniption trying to get him away from eating an entire display of candied plums.

But right now even the thought of eating anything makes him want to puke and he makes a face as Jeno reaches around the ones that look like they’ve been topped with strawberry preserve.

He picks up a tiny pocket of soft looking pastry and pops it into his mouth, his cheeks bulging and pressing his eyes into gentle dark crescents.

He hums and then picks up a second and offers it straight to Jaemin, pressing it against his lips until he opens his mouth.

“Red bean,” Jeno says, almost indecipherable around his full mouth and Jaemin hums as he follows suit, savouring the familiar taste that doesn’t turn his stomach the way the glistening yakgwa does. Even though if this was any other day he would stuff his face with the dense honey pastries until he was sick. 

He accepts a second red bean bukkumi as well as a matcha dasik tea cookie before he shakes his head at Jeno and his Guard gives up.

“Thankyou,” he says as Jeno immediately surrenders, squeezing Jeno’s fingers tight before, achingly, he lets them go.

As much as he has appreciated the small pocket of time they have had to themselves, he knows it wont exist forever, and as he leads the way back towards the throng of swirling nobility, craning his head over the sea of glittering hairpieces and artful braids for a familiar face he’s almost immediately caught by another middle-aged Lord.

“Apologies my boys, I hate to pull you aside but I truly must greet the young Witch that has this whole city simply abuzz,” the man says, with a smile so wide Jaemin would know is completely fake even without the smearing wisps of deceit curling around the Lord’s every move.

“I’m certainly doing my best,” Jaemin says, used to this conversation opening by now. The man laughs, low and loud and Jaemin grins at the sour tang of irritation on the air. But the feeling does not come from this snotty lord alone.

Behind him Jaemin feels Jeno square his shoulders, stepping just slightly to the side so that he is entirely in the noble’s line of sight. If he is looking at Jaemin, he _will_ be looking at Jeno.

That doesn’t seem to go unnoticed, or perhaps this man, this Lord, has at least the understanding that the full strength of Jaemin’s _curiosity_ belongs to Jeno.

And he’s not actually sure if he appreciates the attention on Jeno after all, because that means that this noble is more dangerous than the others.

“Ah, and you must be our young Guard! How marvellous. And here I haven’t even bothered to introduce myself, how rude. Lord Kang Sikhyun,” he says, canting his head in a tempered imitation of a bow, first to Jaemin and then again, in a weaker imitation towards Jeno, who imitates it to perfection.

Jaemin’s pride is practically sparking under his skin at the mask of indifference keeping Jeno’s annoyance closed and quiet and for a moment Jaemin can’t help but wonder what exactly it will be like to be able _feel_ Jeno in his entirety when he feels like he knows him inside and out already.

And so Jaemin reaches back to blindly grasp at Jeno’s fingers, tangling them together as he lets his magic chase its way over Jeno’s skin, linking them together as he sends out a soothing echo of his pride, his amusement and he smiles brightly when Jeno squeezes back.

“I must say,” Lord Sikhyun continues. “There are truly so many rumours circulating about you, I don’t say I could honestly tell what your magic can even do?”

And _oh_ , it doesn’t take his magic or even intuition to see the blatant allure of that question.

“Vitality, my lord,” Jaemin replies with a grin and this time Jeno is the one who squeezes his hand. Not that it matters a great deal, despite being unofficial, Jaemin’s title is well known in White Stone.

But while he doesn’t feel particularly giving to this silver-tongued Lord, Doyoung’s warning is still there, lingering in his head. They’re not here to make enemies. Mercy be, they’re not even here to make friends.

He needs to be careful, and deceit wouldn’t be a good place to start. He doesn’t even know how powerful the Choi’s are, what weight this Lord Sikhyun carries.

So he offers what the noble wants, but no more.

“Goodness, what an interesting namesake. Heechul’s boys do get more and more interesting by the day,” he muses.

Still, Jaemin has never had any intention of being honest tonight. Doyoung’s warning hasn’t left his brain at all, and given the way everyone here has treated Jeno so far, Jaemin’s hackles are raised, and the fact that this Lord Choi is but the first to even greet Jeno at all – well, he’s more wary now that he has been so far.

Nor is he alone in that, it seems.

“And ah, speaking of Heechul’s boys. Magister Doyoung, what a delight to see you in the Black City again and only a month shy of your brother’s departure. It is almost as if the two of you are never destined to meet,” Lord Sikhyun says, voice honey-sweet as he fixes his attention on Doyoung.

Jaemin is almost surprised at the underlying venom in the words, the Lord itching with a vindictiveness that almost bursts from his chest like steam.

Doyoung, calm, collected Doyoung doesn’t even offer a smile, his expression fixed.

“There is always a level of distance when duty calls, my Lord, as I’m sure your wife knows well.”

“I’m surprised to see you here, Magister. Your brother makes it seem it’s nigh impossible to pull you away from your witchlings. Are there truly so few of them left that you finally have the freedom to rejoin civilised company?”

“I promise you if civilised company is what I desired I would not spare this conversation another moment, my Lord,” Doyoung advises glibly and it’s enough that Jaemin nearly chokes on the need to laugh.

“And here I had assumed White Stone was flourishing quite well given how many weeds you all seem to pluck right off the side of the road,” the Lord simpers, his gaze fixated on Doyoung as if he has completely forgotten his attempts to woo Jaemin’s trust a few moments ago.

“After all,” Sikhyun continues. “You somehow convinced Lady Huang to allow her son to learn amongst so many maladroit witches. But then again, who better to send another child of Class than to one of their own?”

“Lady Huang has laid an impossible amount of trust in us by allowing her son to learn in White Stone. I’m sure she would be terribly curious to know that you disagree. After all, it is ever so important to be able to trust the word of one’s allies. Especially if they also carry so many trade contracts.”

It’s clear then that Doyoung has hit a sore spot by the way Jaemin can see the man’s jaw clench beneath thin skin, even if he couldn’t feel the sickening surge of anger that encompasses the Lord in front of them.

“Now, if you would excuse us,” Doyoung says, his hands warm on Jaemin’s back as he barely inclines his head in what could possibly be considered a bow.

“ _Hyung,_ ” Jaemin crows, giddy with delight as Doyoung guides them through the crowd.

“That was _amazing_ ,” he murmurs, quiet enough that no one else can hear. Doyoung’s expression doesn’t shift, but Jaemin feels the curling flames of satisfaction burning bright in the elder Witch and it’s _wonderful._

“What did he ask?” Doyoung asks as they weave around a larger group of young nobles, taking that moment to cast a glance back towards the back of the ageing Lord.

“What my magic can do,” Jaemin replies, leaning into Doyoung’s familiar warmth, letting it seep into his skin and making his magic prickle happily.

Doyoung’s expression pinches, disgruntled and Jaemin can feel the burning suspicion buried deep in Doyoung’s chest. It is an old feeling and one not easily dissuaded.

“I didn’t tell him, hyung,” he assures and Doyoung turns to look at him, his gaze gentle.

“I know,” Doyoung replies, proud and relieved. Doyoung’s hands are warm as he runs gentle fingers over the back of Jaemin’s neck in comfort.

“Come now, there wont be long before the Formal Welcome to Court. Let’s find Taeyong and Yuta,” he says and reaches for Jeno’s hand to lead the way through the crowd.

But they don’t get far before a bell tolls and the attention in the room shifts towards the far wall where the grounding sound of wood against stone echoes throughout the hall.

What Jaemin had taken for a detailed fresco splits down the middle into two large doors that slide open to reveal a large room beyond and even from the back of the ballroom Jaemin can hear the gentle ripple of moving water.

“Come on, boys,” Doyoung says, sounding amused at their surprise, herding them forward as the rest of the room seems to join them. No one moves particularly quickly, but it is almost a pack migration as they descend through the doorway into the chamber beyond.

Jaemin struggles to keep his expression from showing the complete awe that runs through him at the sight beyond the door.

The Hall behind them may have been large and beautiful, but it pales in comparison to the area beyond it. The intricate tiles beneath their feet falling away to form an enormous rippling pond that stretches in long, delicate curves, guiding the natural flow of the room towards the centre, where there are low-set gyojasang tables laid out in four long lines that form an enormous square. And in the square’s heart, bordered on all sides by water, is a low stage beset with runes.

Jaemin has no idea how anyone knows their place at any of the tables, because it definitely seems as if everyone seems to have a particular seat in mind as they all fold down onto a cushion.

The whole room seems to glow, not a single shadow in sight and it feels blinding and bright and for the first time Jaemin feels nervous. Nothing but sheer, unadulterated _nerves._

There are _far_ too many people moving about and Jaemin knows that he is going to be the absolute centre of attention; the focal point of every gaze and he finds himself struck dumb.

If it wasn’t for Doyoung’s gentle guiding then he is sure he would still be stuck standing in place staring at the crowd and waiting for the axe to fall.

Instead Doyoung’s hand is comforting and warm as he guides Jaemin to one of the cushions at the corner of the crowd. Yuta and Taeyong have left them space, sitting with three empty spaces for Jaemin and Jeno to settle between them and Jaemin finds himself clutching at the familiar threads of his hyung’s magic that he can feel. Searching for the reassurance of the familiar.

There isn’t time to settle though. Not when the King is prompt, rising to his feet and the chatter of the room falls completely away.

His voice carries, unnatural and clear across the room and there isn’t a single sound to interrupt him.

“My thanks to you all, for gathering this night. There is precious little to celebrate of late, and there can be no greater joy than welcoming another Witch to our Court.”

The king pauses, dark eyes carefully wandering over the crowd with a weight that makes Jaemin shiver long before they settle directly down upon him, and Jeno – perfect, wonderful Jeno – squeezes his hand.

“Jaemin, rise,” the King says, voice a mite less commanding.

Jaemin steels himself, gathering his thoughts and crushing them down into a quiet buzz as he rises to his feet and follows the welcoming hand the King offers. Guiding him towards the narrow path that leads to the centre of the platform.

The King matches his steps and Jaemin bows, folding himself down to his knees at the King’s feet.

“The Court of the Black City welcomes you, Jaemin, child of White Stone. May you find blessings in your time here and fortitude in your time gone,” The King says, a small smile about his mouth as he peers down at him.

And this part Jaemin knows, the words old and easy – a rite he had learned as a child in Heechul’s lessons. And again in the long ride here.

“I surrender myself to the Witch Court. I swear to obey our laws, whose rite is to govern with fortitude and honour; school our lessons whose duty is to learn and to prosper; and protect those in need, in search of harmony and peace. I swear to uphold the promises of my people, the orders of this Court and our Royal Line and use my power in service of all peoples.”

His voice doesn’t waver, his tongue doesn’t stick and he feels a resounding pride that is all his own as he feels the power in his words settle into his skin.

“I accept your oath Jaemin, and welcome you as we welcome all; rise as Magister of this Court and the Witch of Vitality.”

Jaemin rises back to his feet, focused perhaps too hard on not stumbling as he looks up to find their Witch King looking at him far too kindly.

And as Jaemin bows low once again, closing his eyes as he holds the position, he feels the eyes of the rest of the Court once more. The sheer weight of them. The fangs in their perfect facades.

And he knows then, no matter the King’s Blessings. No matter the magic that burns hot beneath his knees, this place will take more than it gives.

And for the first time he really understands why his family have kept them close.

The Black City will eat them alive sooner than see them leave unscathed.

⸰ ◌ ۞ ◌ ⸰

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou so, so much for reading!   
> I adore you all. 
> 
> And please - I'd love for more friends so feel free to come say hi on twitter! 
> 
> [ @CaptainJacq](http://twitter.com/captainJacq)
> 
> MWAH xxxx  
> 
> 
> [ Curious Cat"](Http://curiouscat.me/CaptainJacq)

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou for reading!  
> I hope you've enjoyed! 
> 
> Part two will be posted very soon! 
> 
> [ @CaptainJacq](http://twitter.com/captainJacq)
> 
> [ Curious Cat"](Http://curiouscat.me/CaptainJacq)


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